MARCY 


AB6TH-5TVARTPHeLPS 


fcp  (Blfjfcfoti  Stuart 

(MRS.  WARD.) 


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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY, 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


DONALD  MARCY 


BY 


ELIZABETH    STUART    PHELPS 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 

(STfce  fttocrsibe  $re0s,  Camfori&ge 

1893 


Copyright,  1893, 
BY  ELIZABETH    STUART  PHELPS  WARD. 


All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  HERO  IN  A  Fix      ....          1 

II.  A  RUSH 20 

III.  HAZING 33 

IV.  BURIED  ALIVE 42 

V.   GHOSTS! 48 

VI.   Is  IT  MURDER  ? 60 

VII.   A  MANLY  ACT 68 

VIII.  THE  FACULTY'S  VIEW  OF  IT               .        .75 

IX.  MERRY  GOROND 83 

X.   A  MISERABLE  BOY 88 

XL   RUSTICATED 95 

XII.   FAY 107 

XIII.  FRIENDSHIP  ON  A  TOBOGGAN         .        .      134 

XIV.  OVERBOARD 135 

XV.  THE  DE  COURTNEY         .        .        .        .151 

XVI.  WHO  WINS  ? 157 

XVII.  THE  GIRL  AND  THE  COMMITTEE    .         .       169 

XVIII.  A  NOBLE  FELLOW 181 

XIX.   HURRAH! 194 

XX.   FAIR  AND  FREE 206 

XXI.  TERRIBLE  TROUBLE         .        .         .         .211 

XXII.  "I  WILL  WAIT".                .        .        .        .229 


M50147Q 


DONALD   MAECY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   HERO    IN   A    FIX. 

IT  was  a  dark  night  at  Harle  ;  one  of  the 
darkest  yet  seen  that  term.  It  was  the  fall 
term,  and  was  now  well  under  way  by  sev 
eral  weeks.  The  police  force  of  the  little 
city,  who  took  their  well-earned  vacation 
like  the  rest  of  the  college  officers,  and  with 
them,  were  hard  at  work  now.  In  fact,  it 
had  been  a  particularly  busy  season.  The 
Sophomore  class  was  large ;  it  had  some 
irrepressible  leaders.  Freshmen  were  a 
spirited  lot  that  autumn ;  they  did  not  swal 
low  tyranny  like  gruel ;  showed  fight ;  put 
the  Sophomores  on  their  mettle  ;  made  trou 
ble,  and,  in  general,  the  students  had  mani 
fested  so  little  consideration  for  the  feelings 
of  their  civil  protectors  that  the  force  was 
not  on  good  terms  with  them. 


2  DONALD  MARCY. 

Jerry  McCarty,  the  biggest,  the  broadest, 
the  toughest,  and  the  handsomest  of  the 
corps,  was  stationed  on  College  Street.  He 
had  the  heaviest  beat  in  town  ;  and,  while 
he  was  exceedingly  proud  of  it,  complained 
of  it  proportionately,  as  most  of  us  do  of  our 
privileges.  Jerry  McCarty  paced  up  and 
down  the  sidewalk  gloomily.  There  ought 
to  have  been  a  moon,  but  there  wasn't. 
This  fact  seemed  to  make  the  night  darker 
than  if  the  moon  had  gone  to  any  of  the 
vague  geographical  destinations  to  which, 
when  not  due  in  College  Street,  she  betook 
herself  in  Jerry's  mind.  China  he  thought 
the  most  convenient  for  her ;  but  his  son, 
who  was  "  educated,"  and  attended  the 
grammar  school,  averred  that  she  stopped  at 
Surinam. 

The  clouds  were  as  black  as  the  police 
man's  boots.  Even  the  street  lamps  seemed 
to  be  under  the  weather  ;  they  burned  sadly, 
and  the  last  two  on  the  beat  had  flared, 
spluttered,  and  gone  out  in  a  shower  of 
broken  glass. 

"  Put  wather  in  the  kirosane,  have  they?  " 
growled  Jerry.  "  Stoning  the  chimbley, 
hain't  they  ?  the  spalpeens  I  It 's  that  dark, 
they  might  murther  the  Prisitlent  forninst 


THE  HERO  IN  A  FIX.  3 

my  eyes,  and  I  should  n't  see  him  livin'  till 
he  lay  dead  before  'em.  There  's  a-goin'  to 
be  the  devil  of  a  row  kicked  up  to-night, 
or  my  name  is  Saint  Father !  I  must  tele 
phone  for  the  lamplighter,  bad  luck  to  'em ! 
Lavin'  the  bate  empty  till  I  get  to  the  sig 
nal  and  back  agin,  the  raskills  !  " 

Now  Jerry  McCarty  was  a  good-natured 
giant ;  nobody  let  the  boys  off  more  easily  ; 
but  he  looked  very  terrible  as  he  squared  his 
huge,  angry  shoulders  and  thundered  away 
to  telephone  to  the  Street  Lighting  Depart 
ment  that  two  lamps  were  out.  Of  course, 
for  a  few  minutes,  this  left  the  end  of  the 
beat,  where  the  road  turned  off  to  the  cam 
pus,  comfortably  dark.  Of  course  the  boys 
—  some  boys  —  some  boy  —  knew  that, 
and  of  course  Jerry  knew  that  the  boys 
knew  that.  But  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done  about  it,  except  to  telephone,  and 
hurry. 

"  Glory  be  to  God,  if  I  nab  the  midical 
department !  "  muttered  Jerry.  "  It 's  me 
own  belaf e  they  'd  prefer  to  sthale  their 
corrups  than  cut  him  up  of  his  own  accord, 
any  time." 

With  undoubted  injustice,  it  is  to  be 
hoped,  the  students  had  been  under  some 


4  DONALD   MARCY. 

slight  suspicion,  that  term,  in  respect  to 
their  medical  school.  A  dissecting-room 
somewhere,  it  was  suggested,  had  been  ille 
gally  supplied,  "  just  for  fun."  Wild  ru 
mors  of  rifled  graveyards  "  up  country  "  had 
gone  muttering  through  the  college  circles. 
There  was  something  about  a  negro,  and  a 
pauper  baby,  and  so  on.  At  all  events,  Jerry, 
with  the  readiness  of  hard  experience  to  think 
the  worst  of  a  Harle  student,  accepted  these 
unsavory  reports  with  professional  ease  and 
pleasure.  It  was  the  top  of  his  ambition  to 
catch  a  body-stealer  in  Harle  University. 

It  was  beginning  to  rain  a  little  ;  not  a 
hearty  storm,  but  a  puttering  drizzle,  which 
went  a  certain  way  toward  keeping  people 
within  doors.  The  streets  of  Harle,  gener 
ally  busy  enough,  were  indifferently  filled 
that  night.  The  foot  passengers  walked 
moodily  with  their  hats  over  their  eyes  ;  the 
heavy  teaming  of  the  day  was  over,  and  ve 
hicles  in  that  part  of  the  city  were  few.  It 
was  time  to  study,  and  the  boys,  as  every 
body  knew,  were  all  in  their  rooms  and  hard 
at  work. 

Jerry  McCarty  was  scarcely  well  out  of 
sight  from  the  line  of  vision  afforded  by  the 
last  of  the  two  broken  lamps,  when,  if  he 


THE  HERO   IN  A   FIX.  5 

had  been  upon  his  beat,  he  would  have  heard 
the  rumbling  of  heavy  wheels  coming  up 
College  Street  from  the  outskirts  of  the 
town,  and  approaching  slowly ;  perhaps  the 
trained  ear  of  the  policeman  would  have 
thought,  approaching  cautiously.  But  the 
policeman  was  not  there  to  hear. 

"  Good-by,  Peel-er  !  "  hummed  a  gay 
young  voice  beneath  its  breath.  There  be 
ing  no  "  Peeler  "  to  overhear  this  either,  the 
cart  drove  boldly  on,  quickening  its  pace  a 
little,  and  so,  trundling  carelessly  up  to  the 
turning  of  the  roads,  hesitated  one  second, 
it  seemed,  whether  to  go  on  or  to  take  the 
route  to  the  campus.  The  cart  was  now 
near  enough  to  have  been  clearly  examined 
in  the  imperfect  light.  It  was  a  common 
dumping-cart,  drawn  by  a  skinny  old  horse 
who  seemed  to  be  quite  unhappy,  and  to  find 
the  only  relief  possible  to  existence  in  waltz 
ing  from  side  to  side  of  the  street,  and  try 
ing  to  run  into  things.  At  the  moment  when 
the  driver  hesitated  at  the  corner,  the  horse 
made  a  dead  set  for  the  lamp-post,  which  he 
succeeded  in  missing,  being  jerked  back  by 
a  vigorous  hand.  There  was  a  covering  of 
canvas,  or  burlap,  thrown  over  the  contents 
of  the  cart ;  beneath  the  burlap  the  edges 


6  DONALD  MARCY. 

of  a  cotton  quilt  or  comforter  protruded 
with  the  persistence  of  a  thing  which  had 
been  tucked  in  hard,  and  left  to  stay.  The 
driver  seemed  to  be  a  simple  fellow, — 
some  poor  day-laborer  out  on  an  extra  job. 
He  wore  a  very  ragged  overcoat  and  an  old 
felt  hat  slouched  over  his  eyes.  In  fact,  the 
only  thing  visible  about  the  driver  was  a 
mass  of  brown  curls,  which  escaped  from 
the  old  hat  merrily  and  twined  about  the 
fellow's  too  clean  young  neck  and  ears. 
He  wore  mittens  of  blue  yarn,  and  handled 
the  reins  well,  though  with  some  lack  of  ex- 
pertness  so  far  as  the  covering  of  his  hands 
was  concerned ;  he  had  not  wholly  the  ease 
of  one  used  to  driving  in  yarn  mittens. 

This  plain  fellow,  having  decided,  appar 
ently,  to  turn  the  corner,  now  intimated  as 
much  to  the  skinny  horse,  who  plainly  took 
offense  thereat,  and  bolted  for  a  big  elm- 
tree  opposite  the  quenched  street  lamp.  His 
honorable  intention,  so  far  as  one  could  in 
terpret  it,  was  to  smash  up  his  driver  and 
get  home  to  his  own  supper,  or  whatever 
passed  for  that.  The  carter  was  fully  occu 
pied  in  settling  the  difference  of  opinion  be 
tween  himself  and  the  horse,  when  a  hand 
of  iron  gripped  his  shoulder. 


THE  HERO   IN  A   FIX.  7 

"  Got  you !  "  cried  Jerry  McCarty  suc 
cinctly. 

"  Bad  luck  to  yez  !  "  cried  the  carter  an 
grily.  "  I  '11  sue  yez  for  damages  !  Whoa, 
there  !  Howly  mother,  I  will,  then  !  Ar- 
ristin'  of  a  horny-handed  son  of  toil  on  his 
way  to  the  bosom  of  his  family  with  an  hon 
est  day's  arning,  begorra !  I  'm  late  to  me 
victuals.  Whoa  there !  Who-a !  Onhand 
me,  ye  vagyband,  and  lave  me  home  to  sup 
per.  Do  ye  take  me  for  one  o'  them  disrep- 
pitable  sthtoodents,  thin  ?  /  'm  an  honest 
man,  I  am  !  /  9m  a  law-abidin'  an'  hard- 
workin'  citizen !  Eelase  me,  or  I  '11  sue  yez 
for  damages  as  will  send  yez  to  the  poor- 
house  marchin'  time  !  Relase  me,  sir  ! 
Whoa  !  ye  thunderin'  thafe  of  a  skileton  !  " 

"  Don't  know  yer  hoss  very  well,  do  ye  ?  " 
said  the  policeman  quietly.  "Come,  now, 
sir,  that 's  too  thin,  begorra.  You  don't 
catch  Jerry  McCarty  with  that  salt,  me 
young  gentleman.  I  arrest  you  in  the  howly 
name  of  the  Commonwealth,  Mr.  Marcy." 

"  Marcy  ?  "  cried  the  cartman,  with  a  kind 
of  pathetic  bewilderment.  "Marcy?  Me 
name  is  Dennis  O'Flaherty,  as  me  wife, 
which  was  a  Sullivan,  will  testify.  Me  fay- 
ther's  name  was  Dennis  before  me,  and  me 
grandfayther  "  — 


8  DONALD  MARCY. 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Mc- 
Carty  indulgently. 

He  did  not,  meanwhile,  relax  his  hold  of 
the  other's  shoulder.  The  skinny  horse  took 
the  opportunity  to  back  into  the  lamp-post, 
where  he  caught  the  axle  and  stuck.  This 
seemed  to  give  him  great  satisfaction  ;  and 
it  certainly  added  an  element  of  repose  to 
the  scene  between  the  carter  and  the  officer. 

"  Me  home  is  at  No.  16  Dublin  Street," 
announced  the  carter  promptly.  "  I  rint  it 
for  five  dollars  the  month,  which  it  is  a  da- 
cint  timiimint.  Me  wife  sets  awaitin'  me 
with  nine  small  childer  beyont  her  at  this 
livin'  minit,  Mr.  Officer,  an'  yez  arristin'  of 
a  innocent  husband  an'  f ayther ;  a  hard- 
workin',  honerrable,  horny-handed  "  — 

"  Come,  now,"  interrupted  the  policeman 
calmly ;  "  you  're  no  saplin',  sir,  but  you 
may  as  well  come  along  wid  me.  No.  16 
Dublin  Street  is  a  very  dacent  place,  as  it  is 
my  privilege  to  know,  bein'  as  it  is  my  iden 
tical  home,  sir,  which  I  rints  me  own  self 
this  half  year.  Try  again,  Mr.  Marcy." 

"  Oh,  Jerry ! "  cried  the  carter  in  a 
changed  tone.  "  How  in  the  world  did  you 
know  me  —  this  time  ?  " 

"  I  Ve  nabbed  you  too  often,  sir,"   said 


THE  HERO    IN  A   FIX.  9 

Jerry  serenely.  "  Don't  I  know  them 
curls?" 

"  But  you  never  got  me,  Jerry,  I  never 
did  anything,  you  know.  Come,  Jerry  !  I 
own  I  'm  up  to  mischief,  but  I  never  did  a 
mean  thing  in  my  life.  Did  I,  Jerry  ?  " 

"  Can't  say  as  you  have,"  admitted  Jerry 
slowly.  "  I  've  seen  wus  ;  an'  I  've  seen  bet 
ter,  too,  sir.  There  's  all  sorts.  But  I  've 
got  you  now,  sir,  an'  the  asier  you  come 
along  wid  me  the  better  for  ye.  What 's  in 
that  cart,  Mr.  Marcy  ?  " 

"  Turnips  !  "  said  the  student  promptly. 
"  I  am  taking  a  load  of  turnips  home  to  my 
wife,  Biddy  O'Flaherty.  She  '11  never  see 
them  now,  Jerry.  Nor  any  one  of  those 
nine  poor  children.  They  '11  starve,  Jerry, 
—  all  on  your  account." 

"  What  is  in  your  cart,  sir  ?  "  repeated 
the  policeman  sternly. 

"  See  for  yourself,"  said  Marcy  carelessly. 

He  sat  back  on  the  board  seat  of  the 
dumping-cart,  and  nonchalantly  lighted  a 
cigar,  which  he  puffed  quite  pleasantly  in 
the  policeman's  face. 

"  That  I  won't,  then  !  "  cried  the  officer, 
edging  off.  "  You  don't  catch  me  a-hand- 
lin'  of  'em,  sir.  My  dooty  don't  require  it." 


10  DONALD   MARCY. 

"  Oh,  do,  Jerry ! "  urged  Marcy,  with 
twinkling  eyes.  "  Just  uncover  the  cart, 
and  look  for  yourself.  I  'in  sure  it 's  your 
duty,  as  an  officer  of  this  Commonwealth, 
to  examine  the  contents  of  this  cart.  Do, 
Jerry  !  " 

"  No,  sir !  "  insisted  Jerry.  "  Not  by  a 
long  shot.  They  11  do  that  at  the  station. 
That 's  their  business.  Yours  is  to  come 
along  wid  me,  sir.  Hurry  up,  now !  I 
can't  be  foolin'  wid  yer  any  longer.  Off 
wid  yer ! " 

"  We  may  as  well  ride,"  said  Marcy 
good-naturedly.  "  If  I  've  got  to  go  to  the 
police  station,  I  '11  go  in  style.  You  may 
drive,  Jerry.  I  won't  run,  —  on  my  honor 
I  won't.  It  would  n't  be  any  use  if  I  did. 
I  'd  rather  go  to  the  station  than  drive  this 
blamed  beast  another  block.  I  '11  sit  still, 
if  you  '11  only  drive.  Just  see  him,  Jerry  ! 
I  think  he  has  the  blind  staggers,  don't 
you  ?  —  or  else  he  's  drunk.  I  thought  for 
a  good  while  he  was  drunk.  Just  look  at 
him !  See  him  wriggle  for  that  lamp-post ! 
Got  your  lamps  lighted,  have  n't  you,  Jerry  ? 
I  wonder  how  they  happened  to  go  out? 
Look  out,  there !  He 's  standing  on  his 
head  now.  It 's  a  way  he  has.  I  think  it 


THE  HERO  IN  A  FIX.  11 

must  be  epilepsy.  My  wife,  Biddy  O'Fla- 
herty,  made  me  a  present  of  this  horse. 
She  does  n't  know  much  about  horses.  I 
think  she  got  cheated  ;  don't  you  ?  I  hate 
to  hurt  her  feelings.  I  don't  tell  her,  ex 
cept  when  he  busts  axles  or  runs  over  boys. 
He  's  smashed  up  several  boys.  He 's  a 
very  interesting  horse.  Oh !  I  tell  you, 
Jerry,  —  arrest  the  horse  !  That 's  it,  Jerry, 
you  arrest  the  horse  —  for  drunkenness  in 
the  first  degree  !  —  or  could  n't  you  make 
it  vagrancy  ?  You  just  get  this  animal  to 
the  station  —  and  look  at  what 's  in  the  cart 
—  and  I  '11  venture  you  '11  be  promoted  ; 
and  I  '11  go  home  and  learn  my  lesson. 
Won't  that  do,  Jerry  ?  " 

Jerry  smiled  grimly.  He  could  not  help 
it.  Nobody  could  help  it  when  Marc}^  was 
in  the  case.  He  was  such  a  happy-go-lucky, 
pleasant  fellow.  When  his  young  voice 
pealed  away  into  the  rainy  night,  ringing 
merrily,  shout  on  shout  of  happy,  boyish 
laughter,  Officer  McCarty  laughed,  too, 
though  he  didn't  mean  to,  and  the  police 
man  and  the  culprit  came  up  to  the  police 
station  with  a  festive,  innocent  appearance, 
as  if  they  were  carting  lemonade  to  a  Sun 
day-school  picnic.  The  officer  was  smoking 


12  DONALD   MARCY. 

one  of  Don  Marcy's  best  cigars,  and  Don 
himself  leaned  heavily  against  Jerry's  shoul 
der,  as  if  they  had  been  intimate  friends. 

The  police  sergeant  received  them  as  a 
matter  of  course.  He  was  not  surprised  to 
admit  a  student  of  Harle  University  within 
his  own  classic  walls.  He  did,  however, 
give  one  glance  at  the  boy's  face  with  keen, 
experienced  eyes,  which  said  :  — 

"  Ah  !  a  new  one." 

But  his  lips  said  nothing  at  all.  He 
opened  his  book  silently  to  record  the  case. 

"Name?" 

"  Look  here,"  said  Marcy  ;  "  there  's  a 
mistake  about  this." 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  officer ;  "  there  al 
ways  is.  Name  ?  " 

"  All  right,"  replied  Marcy  pleasantly. 
"  I  'm  not  ashamed  of  my  name.  May  I 
finish  my  cigar?  Thank  you.  Donald 
Marcy ;  that 's  my  name,  —  Donald  C. 
Marcy.  C  stands  for  Carrington.  Carring- 
ton  was  my  mother's  name.  She  was  a  Car 
rington,  of  "  — 

"Never  mind  particulars,  sir.  Kesi- 
dence  ?  " 

"  New  York  city." 

"  Ah  !     Father's  name  ?  " 


THE  HERO  IN  A  FIX.  13 

"  T.  B.  Marcy." 

"  Occupation  ?  " 

"  Well —  he  takes  care  of  his  income." 

"  Kesideiice  ?  " 

"  Lexington  Avenue." 

"  Offense  ?  "  asked  the  sergeant,  turning 
to  the  policeman. 

"  I  was  driving  a  drunken  horse,"  inter 
posed  Don  Marcy.  "  I  was  out  for  a  little 
ride  ;  I  could  n't  afford  a  stylish  turnout, 
and  the  horse  got  tight.  You  just  go  out 
and  look  at  that  horse,  Mr.  Officer.  Ask 
Mm  his  father's  name  and  occupation.  I  'd 
give  a  better  cigar  than  this  to  know." 

"  Is  this  the  way  they  drive,"  asked  the 
officer,  looking  Don  over,  "  on  Lexington 
Avenue?" 

"  Oh,  come,  now,"  said  Don,  "  we  Ve 
chaffed  enough.  Eeally,  there  's  a  serious 
mistake  here.  I  'm  a  Harle  student,  I  own  ; 
but  I  have  n't  done  anything  else  to  be 
brought  to  the  police  station  for.  You  'd 
better  ask  my  pardon,  and  let  me  go." 

But  Jerry  McCarty  had  gone  up  and  ex 
changed  a  few  words  with  the  orderly  in  an 
undertone.  The  orderly  raised  his  eyebrows 
with  an  expression  of  keen,  professional  in 
terest,  and  took  down  a  pair  of  handcuffs 
from  the  wall  behind  his  desk. 


14  DONALD  MARCY. 

"  Oh,  see  here  !  "  said  Marcy.  The  affair 
began  to  take  on  a  more  serious  look  than 
he  expected.  For  the  turn  of  a  minute  his 
merry  face  grew  grave.  "  Suppose,  Mr. 
Officer,"  he  added,  "  you  just  tell  me  the 
nature  of  my  offense  against  the  statutes  of 
this  Commonwealth  ?  I  '11  be  switched  if  / 
know." 

"  You  are  arrested,  sir,"  replied  the  ser 
geant,  without  any  sign  of  pleasantry,  "  upon 
the  suspicion  of  body-stealing.  It 's  offense 
enough,  I  take  it." 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  the  college  boy. 

His  mobile,  educated  features  assumed 
half  a  dozen  expressions  in  as  many  instants. 
The  experienced  officer  watched  them,  and 
looked  puzzled.  Jerry  McCarty  presented 
a  memorable  appearance,  —  a  mixture  of 
professional  vanity  and  personal  regret. 
He  really  did  like  Don  Marcy.  He  felt 
sorry  to  attain  the  chief  success  of  his  ser 
vice  in  the  distinguished  corps  of  Harle  at 
the  boy's  expense. 

"Very  well,"  said  Donald  Marcy.  He 
leaned  back  on  the  wooden  bench,  and  laid 
his  curly  head  against  the  station  wall ; 
then  remembered  what  social  degrees  'of 
heads  had  preceded  him  in  that  position, 
and  sat  up  and  put  his  slouch  hat  on. 


THE  HERO  IN  A  FIX.  15 

"  If  you  've  found  out,"  he  added,  "  I  sup 
pose  the  game  's  up.  I  won't  bother  you  un 
necessarily.  Go  out  and  look  for  yourself, 
Mr.  Officer.  Unless  you  '11  send  Jerry.  I 
wish  you  would  send  Jerry,"  he  pleaded. 
"  Jerry  is  anxious  to  see  that  body." 

"  No,  sir  !  "  said  Jerry  McCarty  firmly. 
"  I  know  my  dooty,  sir,  and  the  unkiver- 
ing  of  that  corrups  ain't.  With  your  per 
mission,  sir,  I  '11  take  another  job.  I  likes 
'em  before  risurrection,  if  I  Ve  got  'em  to 
handle." 

"  Don't  be  too  particular,  Jerry,"  objected 
the  sergeant.  "Just  detail  Symmes  to 
watch  the  prisoner,  and  come  along  with  me. 
We  '11  examine  the  body  together,  if  you  're 
sure  there  is  a  body." 

"  He  don't  look  it,  exactly,"  added  the  or 
derly  in  an  undertone,  as  he  and  the  police 
man  went  out  into  the  rain  together  to  the 
cart.  "  But  I  take  your  word  for  it,  McCarty. 
You  don't  often  miss." 

If  a  policeman  can  ever  be  said  to  trem 
ble,  Jerry  McCarty  was  that  policeman 
when  the  sergeant  ordered  him  to  take  off 
the  burlap  from  the  soaked  and  unsavory 
cart.  If  a  policeman  can  ever  be  said  to 
grow  pale,  Jerry  was  that  policeman  when 


16  DONALD  MARCY. 

he  was  bidden  to  turn  back  the  cotton  com 
forter  which  covered  the  awful  contents  of 
Mr.  Dennis  O'Flaherty's  turnip  cart.  It 
was  rather  an  ugly  moment.  The  electric 
light  from  the  police  station  shed  a  steady, 
ghastly  glow  upon  the  uncanny  scene,  to 
which  the  drunken  horse  added  a  wild  in 
terest  at  that  moment  by  falling  in  a  fit ;  or 
perhaps  he  called  it  a  faint.  Marcy,  from 
the  station,  called  through  the  open  door, 
whither  the  officer,  Symmes,  under  whose 
guard  he  was  left,  had  accompanied  him,  to 
allow  him  to  watch  the  procedure.  Marcy 
suggested  that  the  horse  was  used  to  smell 
ing-salts  and  missed  them. 

"  There  !  "  said  the  orderly,  flinging  back 
the  last  corner  of  the  comforter. 

"  Ugh  !  "  cried  Jerry  McCarty. 

"  What 's  the  game  ?  "  asked  Symmes. 

But  Marcy,  leaning  nonchalantly  against 
the  side  of  the  doorway,  tossing  away  the 
end  of  his  cigar  with  a  light  fillip  of  his 
delicate  hand,  —  Donald  Marcy  said  :  — 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  may  I  go  back  to  col 
lege  now  ?  I  'd  like  to  get  there  in  time  to 
find  out  where  to-morrow  morning's  recita 
tion  is.  Jerry !  Say  —  Jerry  !  " 

But   Mr.   McCarty  was  gone.      He  had 


THE  HERO   IN  A  FIX.  17 

taken  himself  back  to  his  beat  with  inglori 
ous  and  melancholy  haste,  long  remembered 
at  that  police  station. 

The  cart  contained  an  empty  barrel  —  an 
old  barrel  covered  with  tar ;  some  brush 
wood  freshly  gathered  from  the  country,  and 
a  basket  or  two  of  pine-cones.  That  was 
all. 

"  I  was  detailed  to  provide  material  for  a 
bonfire,"  explained  Marcy,  smiling.  "  It 's 
against  college  law,  I  own.  I  don't  say  I  'd 
any  business  to  do  it.  Jerry 's  spoiled  the 
prettiest  blaze  of  this  term,  I  '11  say  that 
much  for  him.  But  say,  Mr.  Officer,  it  is  n't 
a  state's  prison  offense,  is  it  ?  It  does  n't 
hurt  the  feelings  of  the  Commonwealth, 
does  it,  if  I  run  the  risk  of  forty  marks  to 
light  a  tar-barrel  on  the  campus  ?  Hey  ?  " 

"  No,"  admitted  the  sergeant  sadly,  "  I 
don't  know  as  it  does.  I  guess  we  '11  have 
to  let  you  go.  But  don't  do  it  any  more, 
Mr.  Marcy." 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  young  fellow,  with 
a  touch  of  earnestness ;  he  lifted  his  clear 
face  pleasantly  to  the  dark  countenance  of 
the  officer.  "  I  want  you  to  understand,  Mr. 
Sergeant,  —  just  erase  my  father's  name, 
will  you,  from  that  book  ?  I  '11  be  glad  if 


18  DONALD  MARCY. 

you  '11  remember  that  I  don't  get  to  this 
station,  except  by  mistake,  sir.  I  've  had 
my  share  of  fun  in  this  college ;  I  don't 
deny  it.  I  dare  say  I  shall  have  some  more. 
But  I  don't  sneak,  and  I  don't  do  a  low 
lived,  mean  trick,  and  I  don't  steal.  Come, 
now !  Do  I  look  that  kind  of  chap  ?  " 

Donald  had  now  taken  off  his  disguise; 
the  ragged  overcoat  lay  in  a  heap  at  his 
feet,  —  he  tossed  it  across  the  dumping-cart 
with  a  gesture  of  disgust.  Somehow,  he  felt 
a  little  ashamed,  in  spite  of  all  that  grand 
manner  of  his.  He  held  the  slouch  hat  in 
his  white  hand.  The  yarn  mittens  were 
gone.  He  stood  in  the  quiet  dress  of  a 
young  gentleman,  and  bowed  gracefully  to 
the  officer. 

"  No,"  said  the  sergeant,  looking  him  over. 
"  I  can't  say  that  you  do.  But  you  've  made 
me  a  sight  of  trouble." 

"  You  trouble  !  "  cried  Don  merrily.  "  Con 
sider,  gentlemen,  what  you  've  made  me*! 
I  Ve  got  to  drive  this  plaguy  horse  three 
miles  to  find  his  master  ;  he  's  a  poor  man, 
and  I  promised  to  '  take  '  the  beast  back 
c  tenderly,'  and  I  vowed  I  'd  '  lick  him  with 
care.'  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  there  won't 
be  any  bonfire !  " 


THE  HERO  IN  A  FIX.  19 

Lifting  his  hat  jauntily  to  the  officer,  the 
boy  climbed  back  into  the  dumping-cart,  and 
rode  away  into  the  rain,  singing  :  — 

"  When  Fresh,  they  used  me  rather  roughly," 

at  the  top  of  his  healthy  lungs. 

"  Say,  Peeler  !  "  he  called  back,  far  down 
the  street,  "  something 's  happened  to  this 
horse  ;  I  think  he  's  dead.  Would  n't  you 
offer  him  as  material  to  the  medical  de 
partment  ?  Don't  —  you  —  think  —  they  'd 
—  like -him?" 


CHAPTER  II. 

A   RUSH. 

HARLE  COLLEGE  was  excited.  It  was  a 
temperate  excitement,  relatively  speaking, 
for  the  occasion  was  what  might  be  called 
a  mild  one.  It  was  nothing  madder  than  a 
"  rush."  Every  college  boy  knows  what  a 
rush  is.  They  were  a  specialty  at  Harle. 
At  this  time  of  year,  when  the  long  autumn 
nights  set  in  early,  when  the  elder  faculty 
found  it  hard  to  see  without  their  spectacles 
before  tea-time,  and  the  tutors  were  busy  in 
their  rooms  burrowing  into  to-morrow's  prob 
lems,  —  the  text-book  being  still  too  new  to 
the  tutors  to  make  the  lesson  easy,  —  when 
it  was  just  cold  enough  to  give  a  snap  to  the 
air  and  a  fillip  to  the  fun,  and  hot  so  cold  as 
to  make  the  feet  stiff  and  the  fingers  numb ; 
then  the  rush  was  in  its  prime.  Then  the 
Sophomores  and  the  Freshmen,  new  acquaint 
ances  yet,  but  thoroughly  introduced,  had 
formed  opinions  of  each  other's  mettle,  and 
were  zealous  to  test  it.  Then  nobody  began 


A  HUSH.  21 

to  study  till  eight  or  nine  o'clock,  and  sup 
per  was  over  at  seven,  and  opportunity  was 
at  its  best. 

On  the  evening  of  which  I  speak,  the  stars 
were  out.  Not  a  cloud  was  in  the  sky. 
There  was  no  moon.  A  light,  stimulating 
breeze  had  started  up  since  dusk,  and  gave  a 
zest  to  breath  and  body.  The  foot  rang  on 
the  frozen  ground,  and  the  chorus  of  fine, 
young  voices  singing  on  the  college  fence 
echoed  to  the  sky.  Harle  boys  are  good 
singers  ;  and,  up  to  reasonable  hours,  the 
tutor  hindereth  not.  Their  repertoire  was 
vigorous  and  varied,  if  limited :  "  Lauriger 
Horatius,"  "  Swe-de-le-we,"  "  Come  to  Din 
ner  Just  Now,"  "  Trankadillo,"  "  Nelly  was  a 
Lady,"  "  Hit  the  Coon,"  "  Prexy  's  Gone  to 
Boston,"  "  How  can  I  Bear  to  Leave  Thee  ?  " 
"  Excelsior,"  "The  Landlady's  Daughter," 
"  One  Fish-Ball,"  and  so  on.  This  hap 
pened  to  be  the  programme  for  that  partic 
ular  occasion. 

The  boys  sang  with  uncommon  spirit.  In 
fact,  it  soon  became  evident  that  they  were 
making  as  much  noise  and  as  little  music  as 
possible,  and  that  their  numbers  were  re 
markably  few. 

The  first  hollow-eyed  tutor  who  looked  up 


22  DONALD   MARCY. 

from  the  maddening  pages  of  his  Analytical 
Geometry  to  glance  out  of  the  hall  window 
at  the  group  upon  the  fence  would  notice 
this ;  steal  down  in  his  slippers  on  tiptoe  to 
see  what  it  meant ;  guess,  if  he  were  clever, 
that  the  concert  was  "  a  blind,"  and  that  the 
squad  detailed  upon  the  fence  were  doing 
unwelcome  duty  to  distract  the  interest  of 
the  faculty,  while  the  mass  of  the  boys  were 
up  to  mischief  somewhere  else.  Then,  if  he 
were  not  too  old  a  tutor,  recently  graduated, 
if  he  felt  quite  kind,  and  had  enjoyed  his 
supper,  and  was  getting  on  well  with  his 
Loomis,  and  nobody  ha:l  been  impertinent 
to  him  that  day,  and  if  he  suspected  nothing 
more  serious  than  a  rush,  that  amiable  tutor 
would  return  comfortably  to  his  book,  or 
mingle,  disguised,  in  the  crowd,  and  nobody 
would  be  the  worse  for  him,  unless  some 
thing  happened.  If  anything  did,  he  was  a 
tutor  on  his  guard. 

Out  on  the  brightly  lighted  fence  a  dozen 
or  so  boys  sang  loyally.  They  did  n't  like 
it,  but  they  sang  straight  on.  Back  in  the 
dark,  upon  the  campus,  fifty  boys  —  one 
hundred  —  two  hundred  —  five  hundred  — 
gathered  silently  and  swiftly.  There  was 
some  talking,  but  all  in  undertones.  Groups 


A  RUSH.  23 

stood  apart  whispering  or  smoking  idly,  pre 
paring  for  the  fun. 

Here  and  there  in  the  dim  foreground, 
lighted  chiefly  by  cigar  ends,  prominent  fig 
ures  passed  to  and  fro.  Among  these  moved 
the  lithe  form  of  Don  Marcy,  straight  and 
graceful ;  his  square  shoulders  and  nervous, 
athletic  hand  and  arm,  his  brown  curls  and 
merry,  blue  eyes  and  clean  mouth  and  well- 
cut  chin,  were  familiar  features  wherever 
there  was  college  fun. 

A  quiet  fellow  stood  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  crowd,  watching  him  with  intent,  affec 
tionate  look.  This  boy  had  black  eyes  and 
straight,  black  hair,  and  a  good  forehead  ; 
he  was  a  trifle  pale  and  thin  ;  he  was  not 
very  well  dressed  ;  he  had  the  carriage  of  a 
student,  while  Don  had  the  swing  of  a  man 
of  the  world.  Don  made  his  way  through 
the  crowd,  pushing  the  fellows  to  right  and 
to  left  with  an  authoritative  touch  of  his 
light  cane,  and  came  up  to  this  boy. 

"  In  for  it  to-night,  Jamie  ?  " 

"I  guess  not,"  said  Jamie  Fleet.  "I'll 
look  on  awhile.  I  've  got  a  lot  of  work  to 
do  to-night." 

"  All  right,"  nodded  Don.  "  Just  as  you 
say.  You  're  always  so  awfully  virtuous, 


24  DONALD  MARCY. 

J. !    Come,  now  !    There  's  nothing  immoral 
in  a  rush,  is  there  ?  " 

"  That 's  your  business,  Don,"  said  Fleet, 
smiling  pleasantly.  "  I  'm  not  your  keeper, 
if  I  am  your  chum.  All  I  say  is,  I  Ve  got 
too  much  to  do.  And  hold  your  horses, 
Don,  won't  you  ?  Don't  let  things  go  too 
far." 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed,"  replied  Don  confi 
dently.  "  I  never  do  that.  Well,  all  right, 
J.  Trouncey,  won't  you  just  form  'em  in 
line  ?  " 

"  Fleet  does  n't  like  rushes,"  observed  a 
Freshman  sneeringly.  "  He  keeps  on  the 
safe  side.  It  needs  some  pluck." 

"  Who  said  that  ?  " 

Like  a  flash-light  Don  wheeled.  His  fist 
clenched,  his  eyes  blazed.  He  was  very  fond 
of  Jamie  Fleet.  A  better  fellow  than  J. 
never  attended  to  his  business  in  Harle  Col 
lege.  And  Jamie  was  not  strong.  Every 
body  knew  that  he  was  n't  by  f  Our  weeks 
over  a  slow  fever,  yet. 

"  Calhoun  said  it,"  observed  the  boy  whom 
Don  had  addressed  as  Trouncey.  "  I  don't 
mind  telling.  Mean  thing  to  say.  Sick  boy. 
'T  is  n't  fair  fight." 

"  Lee  Calhoun  ?  Are  you  there  ?  "thun 
dered  Don. 


A  RUSH.  25 

"  Ye-es,"  drawled  Callioun.  "  I  'm  here, 
and  I  said  it,  and  I  '11  say  it  again." 

Pie  stepped  forward  and  confronted  Don. 
He  was  a  tall,  indolent-looking,  handsome 
fellow,  with  a  sandy  mustache  and  a  sneer 
too  pronounced  for  his  years  twitching  its 
corners  down. 

"  I  don't  fancy  Fleet,"  he  urged  insolently. 
"  He  's  a  dig.  And  why  can't  he  dress  like 
a  gentleman,  if  he  is  one  ?  " 

"  Here  's  why  !  "  cried  Don,  in  a  white 
rage.  He  sprang  upon  Calhoun,  and  would 
have  twisted  him  like  a  willow  stick  in  mus 
cles  so  developed  by  rowing  and  the  gymna 
sium  that  everybody  in  college  respected 
his  knuckles,  —  even  Trouncey  O'Grian  ; 
and  Trouncey  was  the  son  of  the  prize 
fighter  of  that  distinguished  name. 

But  Trouncey  interposed,  and  Jamie  Fleet 
himself. 

"  You  '11  spoil  the  fun,"  urged  Trouncey. 
"  Can't  stop  to  fight  to-night.  Have  it  out 
next  time.  I  '11  second  you." 

"  I  can  defend  myself,"  put  in  Jamie 
quickly.  "  There  's  no  need  of  anybody 
fighting  over  me.  Let  him  alone,  Don,  do. 
There  are  other  ways  than  fighting.  I  '11 
meet  him  in  some  of  'em  any  time  he  says, 
—  class  rank,  for  instance." 


26  DONALD  MARCY. 

"  Let  him  apologize,  then  !  "  cried  hot 
headed  Don.  "  I  '11  let  you  off,  Lee  Calhoun, 
this  time,  to  oblige  my  chum.  That 's  the 
only  reason,  mind  you.  Get  out  of  my  way ; 
I  need  your  room.  Now,  Trouncey  !  Boys  ! 
Come,  boys  !  Form  !  Form  !  R-r-r-ush  !  " 

"  I  want  to  be  a  Peeler, 

And  with  the  Peelers  stand ; 
A  pistol  in  my  pocket, 
And  a  billy  in  my  hand,' ' 

sang  the  boys  upon  the  fence. 

As  quickly  as  the  passing  of  the  word,  the 
students  formed,  Freshmen  and  Sophomores 
leading. 

A  line  of  perhaps  a  dozen  men  from  each 
class  stood  linked,  elbow  within  elbow,  pre 
senting  a  solid  front.  Against  them  the  rest 
pressed  up,  class  to  class ;  the  remainder  of 
the  college  joining  according  to  inclination, 
though  in  the  main  the  Juniors  supported 
the  Freshmen,  while  the  Seniors  backed  the 
Sophomores.  Then  the  huge  mass  gathered, 
nervous,  electric,  ready  for  anything  in  the 
nature  of  a  fight,  and  stood,  swaying  and 
excitable.  In  the  centre  of  the  Freshmen 
ranks,  guarded  by  picked  men,  stood  the 
Freshman  Cane,  —  the  innocent  object  of 
this  mighty  warfare.  A  Sophomore  victory 


A  RUSH.  27 

meant  that  no  member  of  the  Freshman 
class  could  carry  a  cane  that  year  upon  the 
streets  of  Harle. 

The  boys  upon  the  fence  began  to  be  rest 
less,  and  added  to  the  musical  interest  of  the 
occasion  after  this  manner :  — 

"  I  dreamt  that  I  dwelt  in  marble  halls  — 
Where  we  don't  go  home  till  morning- ! 
If  you  loved  me  still  the  same  — 
One,  two,  three,  and  away  you  go ! 
Last  night  she  died  —  she  did ! 
Drink  her  down !     Drink  her  dow-ow-own ! 
Bi-ennials  are  a  bore-ore-ore  ! 
John  Brown's  body  —     Nelly  was  a  lady  — 
Rush  !     Rush !     Rush  —  and  away  we  go  — 
Our  souls  come  marching  on!  " 

With  this  they  came,  piling,  boy  after  boy, 
over  the  fence,  and  over  each  other,  leaving 
the  tutor  in  possession  of  the  field.  The 
rush  was  too  much  for  the  pickets ;  they 
deserted  bodily,  and  came  panting  up  to  see 
the  fun. 

Before  one  could  have  said  whether  the 
play  had  fairly  begun,  it  had  become  dead 
earnest.  A  solid  mass,  the  students  blocked 
and  closed.  Then  by  main  force  and  sheer 
endurance  the  contest  held.  Now  this  side 
staggered,  and  then  that.  The  Sophomores 
wavered,  and  the  Freshmen  made  ground ; 
and  the  Sophomores  shook  again  ;  both  lost ; 


28  DONALD   MARCY. 

each  gained  ;  it  was  a  drawn  game  ;  it  was  a 
doubtful  one  ;  it  was  a  persistent  one ;  it 
began  to  be  an  angry  one  ;  it  threatened  to 
be  a  serious  one.  An  onlooker  would  have 
received  a  new  impression  of  the  sense  in  the 
phrase,  "  Clear  push" 

Tutors  were  on  the  scene  now,  but  nobody 
noticed  them.  All  attempt  at  secrecy  was 
gone.  The  boys  began  to  cry  out  and  to 
yell  like  little  beasts.  They  had  forgotten 
everybody  and  everything  except  the  mere 
brute,  masculine  instinct  of  fight. 

That  preeminent  Sophomore,  Donald 
Marcy,  was  in  the  thick  of  it,  —  in  the  front 
of  it.  He  was  usually  in  the  front  of  things, 
if  we  except  the  marking-list  in  class-room. 

His  fine  figure,  eminent  and  alert,  flashed 
to  and  fro  ;  his  strong  shoulder  gave  many 
a  magnificent  shove.  But  he  never  gave  a 
brutal  knock.  He  did  not  lose  his  chivalry 
in  his  frolic. 

Everybody  else  was  not  so  controlled,  and 
the  play  was  waxing  hot.  Some  heavy 
blows  were  given ;  some  bruises,  too  serious, 
received.  A  colored  student  in  particular 
—  a  Freshman  —  had  a  hard  time.  He  was 
a  sturdy  fellow,  and  took  his  part  in  the  rush 
as  naturally  as  any  white  man ;  quite  as 


A  RUSH.  29 

effectually  as  most  of  them.  It  was  noticed 
that  he  played  quite  fair,  and  dealt  no  foul 
blows. 

Suddenly  the  negro  gave  a  cry,  and  fell. 
The  mass  of  boys,  too  heavily  charged  to 
stop  at  an  instant's  notice,  swayed  to  and  fro 
above  him.  Some  walked  over  him  ;  one  fell 
on  him.  Shouts  and  ugly  words  arose ;  then 
came  the  cry,  so  fatal  to  the  fun  of  a  college 
rush :  — 

"  Give  him  air !  Stand  back  !  Hold  up, 
boys !  somebody 's  down  !  somebody  's  hurt ! 
Air  !  —  give  him  air  !  Who  did  it  ?  Who  hit 
foul  ?  It 's  George  Washington  Clay  !  Who 
struck  Clay  ?  " 

"Calhoun  did  it!  Calhoun  !  Calhoun  ! 
He  hit  a  classmate  !  " 

"  He  handled  me,"  said  Lee  Calhoun,  trem 
bling,  and  white  with  rage.  "  He  pushed  me 
impertinently.  He  is  a  nigger,  and  I  knocked 
him  down." 

Now  the  son  of  the  prize  -  fighter  stood 
near  enough  to  overhear  this.  His  big,  good- 
natured  face  flushed  slowly  with  the  terrible 
blood  of  his  inheritance.  He  said  nothing. 
Nobody  noticed  him.  He  stepped  up  so 
quietly  in  front  of  Calhoun  that  the  action 
attracted  no  attention  till  Calhoun  lay  flat 


30  DONALD  MARCY. 

upon  the  ground,  where  one  blow  of  Troun- 
cey's  mighty  fist  had  stretched  him. 

"  There !  "  said  Trouncey  O'Grian  to  the 
reviving  negro,  whom  the  boys  were  fanning 
and  unfastening  and  helping  to  his  feet. 
"  He  won't  sarse  you  again  to-night.  This 
is  a  free  college  and  a  free  country.  Come 
and  look  at  him,  if  you  want  to.  He  '11  have 
a  headache  for  a  week  or  two,  I  take  it. 
Don't  be  scared,  boys.  He  is  n't  hurt.  You 
don't  suppose  I  'd  be  such  a  flat  as  that." 

But  the  rush  broke  up  now  in  confusion. 
Calhoun  was  insensible  ;  the  colored  student 
bleeding  ;  the  tutors  on  the  spot  ;  the  police 
coming ;  Trouncey  O'Grian  suspended  ;  Cal- 
houn  marked  ;  and  generally  there  was  the 
mischief  to  pay. 

Don  Marcy  went  to  his  room  that  night  a 
little  gloomily.  Jamie  Fleet  was  there,  hard 
at  his  Antigone  for  to-morrow. 

"  Hi,  Don  !  "  he  said  cordially.  "  How  'd 
the  rush  go  off  ?  I  did  n't  stay.  I  've  got  an 
extra  job  on  to-night.  And  it  took  you  so 
long  to  get  at  it.  Have  a  good  time  ?  " 

"  Got  forty  marks,"  answered  Don  so 
berly.  "  Ten  more  will  expel  me.  I  shall 
have  to  get  up  to  prayers  all  the  rest  of  the 
term.  Counted  on  those  forty  to  sleep  over. 


A  RUSH.  31 

It  was  no  kind  of  a  rush,  anyhow.  Did  n't 
get  the  cane.  Nobody  got  the  cane.  Tutor 
got  the  cane.  Jerry  McCarty  arrested  the 
cane.  Two  fellows  busted.  Faculty  there.  I 
lost  my  smoking-cap,  too.  Got  my  clothes 
torn  off  of  me  —  see  !  —  clear  down  to  the 
waist.  I  came  home  in  a  coat  of  Trouncey's. 
I  sprained  my  shoulder  somehow.  Somebody 
squashed  my  toes.  It  was  the  greatest  tom 
fool  of  a  rush,  anyhow." 

"  Did  n't  pay,  did  it  ?  "  asked  Jamie  sym 
pathetically. 

"  Where  's  the  Greek  lesson  ?  "  growled 
Don.  He  sat  down  very  hard  and  looked  it 
over.  He  presented  anything  but  a  scholarly 
appearance  ;  his  handsome  face  was  pounded 
and  bleeding,  his  flannel  shirt  in  strips,  and 
Trouncey's  big  coat  fastened  across  his  shoul 
ders  by  the  sleeves.  "  They  '11  flunk  me,  sure 
pop,"  he  said  disconsolately.  "  I  have  n't 
learned  a  Greek  for  two  weeks,  I  've  been  so 
busy.  Well,  anyway,  I  've  got  to  go  and  get 
a  bath,  now" 

Lee  Calhoun,  while  he  was  recovering 
from  the  effects  of  Trouncey  O'Grian's  blow, 
employed  his  time  in  writing  home  the  most 
dismal  letters  that  had  visited  his  ancestral 
halls  since  Lee  came  to  college.  The  result 


32  DONALD   MARCY. 

of  the  most  explicit  was  a  communication 
from  his  father  to  the  President  of  Harle, 
which  ran  as  follows  :  — 

PRESIDENT  OF  HARLE  UNIVERSITY  —  Sir  : 
My  son  complains  to  me  that  he  is  required  to  sit 
by  the  side  of  a  negro  student.  I  am  compelled 
to  make  it  a  personal  request  that  his  seat  be 
changed.  Respectfully, 

C.  C.  CALHOUN. 

To  this  letter  the  President  sent,  by  return 
mail,  the  following  reply  :  — 

C.  C.  CALHOUN,  ESQ.  —  Dear  Sir :  I  am 
happy  to  be  able  to  inform  you  that  your  cause  of 
complaint  in  the  case  of  your  son  will  be  entirely 
removed  at  the  close  of  this  term.  Hitherto,  we 
have  seated  the  students  alphabetically  in  the 
recitation-room ;  hereafter,  they  will  be  seated 
according  to  scholarship. 

I  am,  sir,  respectfully, 

A.  B.  BAXTER, 
President  of  Harle  University. 


CHAPTER  III. 

HAZING. 

WHEN  Don  Marcy  was*  a  Freshman  at 
Harle,  he  took  his  turn  at  a  slight  acquaint 
ance  with  the  ancient  and  fortunately  now 
unfashionable  practice  of  hazing  which  had 
such  a  mysterious  relation  to  the  culture  of 
a  liberal  education,  as  imbibed  by  the  mas 
culine  race.  Marcy's  experience  was  in  this 
wise  :  — 

Nobody  had  handled  him,  or  threatened  to, 
till  the  first  term  was  nearly  over.  He  was 
such  a  good-natured,  sensible  lad,  mannered 
with  the  modesty  of  real  good  breeding,  and 
he  had  the  lack  of  ostentation  which  accom 
panies  plenty  of  money  when  one  is  born  to 
it,  or,  at  least,  well-born  to  it,  —  he  had 
such  merry  eyes,  and  treated  everybody  so 
decently ;  and  was  clever  at  recitation  when 
he  chose  to  trouble  himself,  and  never  swag 
gered  or  swelled,  and  was  such  a  plucky  fel 
low  in  particular,  that  it  had  been  hard  to 
make  out  a  case  against  him.  At  last,  how- 


34  DONALD  MARCY. 

ever,  a  Sophomore  raised  the  objection  that 
he  was  too  well  dressed,  and  took  a  Professor's 
daughter  to  drive.  This  accusation  carried 
the  class,  and  a  delegation  of  a  dozen  Sopho 
mores  waited  upon  Marcy  one  pleasant  even 
ing  with  vengeance  in  their  eyes. 

Donald  was  alone ;  he  had  no  chum  just 
then  ;  he  was  studying  in  his  comfortable 
room,  —  the  most  tastefully  fitted  of  any  in 
the  college.  It  was  not  a  showy  room,  but 
refinedly  elegant,  from  the  damask  drapery 
curtains  on  his  study  windows  and  the  brass 
fender  and  fire-set  at  the  fireplace,  to  the 
little  Persian  rug  that  lay  before  the  toilet- 
table  in  his  chamber.  Don  was  a  fellow  of 
delicate  personal  habits,  and  kept  that  room 
as  neat  as  any  lady  might  have  done.  He 
enjoyed  it  amazingly,  and  it  had  never  oc 
curred  to  him,  by  the  way,  that  two  views 
could  be  taken  of  the  subject,  till  Jamie 
Fleet's  father  came  in  one  day  with  Don's 
own  parental  visitor  —  they  had  been  class 
mates,  and  had  forgotten  each  other,  and 
met  again  and  remembered  at  Harle,  where 
their  two  sons  entered  college  together  —  to 
see  the  boy's  room. 

Dr.  Fleet  was  a  poor  man,  a  country  min 
ister.  He  had  the  same  gentle,  attractive 


HAZING.  35 

eyes  that  Jamie  had:  he  wrote  for  the 
reviews  from  his  rural  parish,  and  was  not 
unknown  in  the  great  world  where  the  elder 
Mr.  Marcy  lived  upon  his  income,  and  fre 
quented  what  is  called  "  society." 

"  There,  Fleet,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 
asked  the  other  father  fondly.  "  Is  n't  this 
a  pretty  good  thing  in  the  way  of  a  boy's 
room  ?  I  've  tried  to  make  Don  comfortable. 
He  's  used  to  it,  you  know." 

"  Sir,"  answered  his  old  classmate,  smil 
ing,  and  rubbing  the  toe  of  his  patched  boot 
over  the  pattern  of  the  heavy  Axminster  on 
which  they  stood,  "  if  you  really  want  to 
know  what  I  think  of  it,  I  '11  tell  you.  You  'II 
never  raise  a  scholar  on  that  carpet" 

It  was  on  this  unscholarly  carpet  that 
Donald  tipped  back  his  chair  to  listen  when 
the  hazing  party  knocked  at  his  door. 

"  Oh,  come  in,"  he  said  pleasantly.  ,"  De 
lighted,  I  'm  sure.  Make  yourself  at  home, 
boys.  A  dozen  ?  I  'm  honored.  Sit  down  ? 
Have  cigars  ?  No  ?  What  will  you  have, 
then  ?  Me  ?  Stand  upon  that  table  and  sing 
Mother  Goose  ?  Well,  —  I  'm  not  in  voice 
to-night.  Thank  you,  —  no.  I  don't  undress 
before  strange  guests.  Nor  I  don't  gargle 
my  throat  with  raw  alcohol  and  molasses  — 


36  DONALD   MARCY. 

and  red  pepper.  I  don't  care  to  go  downstairs 
with  you,  either,  and  out  to  the  pump  - 
See  here !  "  cried  the  Freshman,  suddenly 
changing  his  tone,  and  moving  a  chair  into 
the  doorway,  where  he  seated  himself  se 
renely.  "  Do  you  see  this  crowbar  ?  It 's  a 
new  one.  I  bought  it  last  week.  I  'm  busy 
to-night.  I  Ve  got  a  lesson  to  learn.  I  '11 
just  sit  here,  if  you  please,  and  learn  it. 
Now,  gentlemen,  the  first  man  of  you  that 
enters  this  room  gets  the  crowbar  !  " 

With  that,  Donald's  bright  eye  looked 
them  over  firmly  and  fearlessly  ;  he  took  his 
book  —  and  his  crowbar  ;  the  hazing  party, 
after  a  whispered  consultation,  took  their 
departure.  They  dropped  away,  one  by  one, 
with  an  air  of  having  an  appointment  with 
another  fellow. 

"  Plucky,"  they  saict.  "  One  of  the  kind  ! 
Equal  to  it !  Could  n't  say  what  he  'd  do  ! 
No  go  !  Try  another  room  !  " 

Now  the  Freshman  has  views  about  haz 
ing  ;  he  considers  it  a  brutal  and  unmanly 
practice.  The  Sophomore  replaces  these 
opinions  by  the  lax  creed  of  conscious  power. 
The  Sophomore  regards  hazing  as  an  inno 
cent  custom,  affording  a  little  college  fun, 
and  to  be  deprecated,  chiefly,  when  it  meets 


HAZING.  37 

with  mishaps  which  bring  the  practice  before 
the  attention  of  the  faculty  or  the  police. 

Don,  I  regret  to  say,  had  suffered  this 
"  class  change  "  in  his  principles.  From  a 
Freshman  and  a  hazee  he  had  become  a 
Sophomore  and  a  hazor.  His  position  was 
underaroinar  one  of  the  revolutions  which  cir- 

O  O 

cumstances  wrest  from  any  of  us  if  we  have 
not  acquired  a  pretty  firm  moral  and  mental 
leverage  of  our  own. 

In  the  course  of  time  —  that  is  to  say,  in 
the  course  of  the  first  term  of  Sophomore 
year  —  Don,  without  much  thought,  easily 
and  lightly  as  such  boys  do  such  things,  "  for 
the  fun  of  it,"  joined  a  hazing  party  which 
had  for  its  objective  point  two  or  three 
unpopular  Freshmen.  Of  these,  Calhoun 
was  the  most  prominent,  and  the  especially 
doomed  man.  Calhoun  had  never  been  a 
favorite  at  Harle.  From  the  first  week  of 
his  college  career  he  had  contrived  to  create 
an  atmosphere  of  personal  irritation  around 
himself.  It  was  hard  to  say  just  how  this 
was  done,  except  by  a  series  of  petty  offenses, 
all  of  them  bearing  in  some  form  or  other 
upon  the  sense  of  caste  that  in  Calhoun  was 
developed  to  a  degree  against  which  the 
hearty,  healthy  spirit  of  human  equality 


38  DONALD  MARCY. 

among  his  classmates  rebelled.  Calhoun,  in 
short,  considered  himself  a  gentleman  who 
must  maintain  his  position.  The  students 
of  Harle  College  considered  him  a  disagree 
able  fellow  who  had  n't  any  position,  because 
he  felt  it  necessary  to  maintain  it. 

This  was  a  difference  of  opinion  not  easily 
reconciled,  and  snobbishness  is  the  last  fault 
which  a  college  full  of  sturdy  young  demo 
crats  will  overlook.  In  an  institution  where 
the  negro  was  respected,  and  the  prize-fight 
er's  son  personally  respectable,  Calhoun  was 
not  at  home.  The  Vermont  clergyman's  boy 
and  the  New  York  gentleman's  son  knew 
how  to  adapt  themselves  to  the  social  prob 
lems  of  that  world-in-little  which  a  large  New 
England  college  represents.  But  Calhoun 
had  received  a  different  education. 

The  accident  at  the  interrupted  rush,  in 
which  Calhoun  had  been  so  unpleasantly 
prominent,  gave  the  final  touch  to  his  un 
popularity.  A  fellow  who  would  spoil  a 
rush,  hit  foul,  and  turn  on  a  classmate,  met 
with  small  favor  at  Harle  College.  From 
the  date  of  that  event  Calhoun  was  doomed 
for  the  severest  hazing  of  the  year. 

Donald  Marcy  went  into  the  affair  hotly 
enough.  The  vigorous  sense  of  chivalry  in 


HAZING.  39 

him,  which  Calhoun  had  so  offended,  was  not 
balanced  enough  to  keep  him  out  of  a  secret 
personal  attack, — ten  men  to  one.  It  did 
not  occur  to  him  that  he  might  be  doing  as 
mean  a  deed  as  Calhoun's  ;  clearly  a  meaner 
one  from  certain  points  of  view,  such  as  reg 
ulate  the  conditions  of  conflict  between  man 
and  man  in  any  other  civilized  set  of  cir 
cumstances  outside  of  a  college  world.  He 
plunged  in,  and  thought  about  it  as  little  as 
possible. 

Calhoun  was  in  his  room  when  the  boys 
came  upon  him,  —  a  group  of  ten,  disguised, 
masked,  and  determined.  The  door  was 
locked.  The  hazors  demanded  admittance. 
Calhoun  requested  them,  firmly  enough,  to 
visit  a  region  geographically  warmer  than 
the  entry  of  North  Middle,  top  floor,  upon 
that  chilly  night. 

"  May  as  well  let  us  in,"  insisted  Donald 
Marcy.  "  We  're  bound  to  have  you." 

"  I  '11  see  you  further,  first !  "  replied  the 
Freshman. 

"  It  would  save  you  some  expense  in  locks," 
suggested  one  of  the  Sophomores. 

Calhoun  made  no  answer.  The  pleasant 
puff  of  a  plantation  cheroot  came  out  through 
the  cracks  of  the  door.  The  hazing  party 


40  DONALD  MARCY. 

agreeably  suggested  that  if  he  kept  such  a 
weed  as  that,  he  should  invite  them  in  for  one 
apiece  all  round.  Receiving  no  hospitality 
of  this  nature,  they  put  their  shoulder  to  the 
locked  and  bolted  door,  burst  it  in,  and  piled 
pell-mell  into  the  Freshman's  room. 

Calhoun  was  standing  there  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  in  his  embroidered  slippers  and 
quilted  dressing-gown,  looking  as  pale  and 
as  plucky  as  was  possible.  He  knew  that  he 
was  unpopular  in  Harle  College,  and  he 
knew  that  his  hour  had  come. 

"  Why  didn't  you  let  us  in?  "  asked  one 
of  the  fellows.  "  It  would  have  been  better 
for  you." 

"  I  open  my  doors  to  gentlemen,"  replied 
the  Southerner,  "  not  to  burglars." 

There  was  something  in  the  justice  and 
in  the  dignity  of  this  reply  not  calculated  to 
soothe  the  hazing  party,  who  revenged  them 
selves  by  proceeding  to  extreme  measures 
with  their  victim  without  further  parley. 
One  of  the  boys  produced  a  pair  of  hand 
cuffs,  with  which  he  intimated  the  intention 
of  securing  the  Freshman,  to  start  with ;  for, 
as  they  all  knew,  he  was  a  hot-blooded  fellow. 
This  particular  Sophomore,  —  his  name,  by 
the  way,  was  Braggs  ;  Ben  Braggs,  —  when 


HAZING.  41 

he  had  taken  ten  steps  toward  Calhoun, 
uttered  an  exclamation  more  warm  than  po 
lite,  and  retreated  more  heartily  than  he  had 
advanced.  He  was  confronted  by  a  fine 
Southern  rifle,  held  straight  to  his  face ;  so 
close,  that  he  could  feel  the  cold  lips  of  the 
weapon  upon  his  forehead. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

BURIED   ALIVE. 

HARDLY  had  Calhoun  presented  the  rifle 
when  he  observed  that  he  would  be  some- 
thing-or-othered  if  they  tried  that  again. 

"  Oh,  come,"  said  Don  Marcy.  "  What 's 
the  use,  Calhoun  ?  Why  don't  you  put 
up  with  college  fun  as  other  fellows  do  ? 
There  's  no  sense  in  shooting.  We  're  not 
blacklegs." 

"  Oh,  are  n't  you  ?  "  asked  Calhoun  with 
his  cold  sneer.  "  It 's  just  as  well  you  men 
tioned  it.  Pray,  what  are  you,  then  ?  " 

"  Gentlemen  and  scholars,"  replied  Don 
promptly. 

"  Really  ?  "  scoffed  Calhoun.  "  Dear  me  ! 
I  'm  so  glad  you  told  me." 

"  Look  here  !  "  roared  Trouncey  O'Grian 
in  his  big,  bass  voice,  "  we  've  fooled  with 
you  long  enough,  Calhoun.  /  7£  put  those 
handcuffs  on,  if  you  please,  in  the  name  of 
the  Sophomore  class  of  Harle  College." 

Trouncey  presented  himself,  breast  to  the 


BURIED  ALIVE.  43 

rifle,  with  incredible  coolness,  and  made  a 
magnificent  spring  upon  the  Freshman,  whose 
arms  he  pinioned  with  his  own  mighty  ones 
sooner  than  the  time  it  takes  to  tell  it.  As 
Calhoun  sank  into  the  scientific  embrace  of 
the  prize-fighter's  son  the  trigger  snapped, 
and  the  rifle  dropped  harmlessly  to  the  floor 
as  the  handcuffs  closed  upon  the  Freshman's 
writhing  wrists. 

Trouncey  O'Grian  smiled.  He  did  not 
stop  just  then  to  explain  to  his  host  that  he 
had  climbed  into  that  room  at  supper-time  — 
four  stories  up  —  by  the  blinds  and  a  peg  or 
two  he  had  taken  pains  to  insert,  and  a  rope 
or  so  thrown  from  the  entry  window  by 
a  friendly  hand,  and  had  successfully  ran 
sacked  the  Freshman's  apartments  for  that 
very  weapon.  Calhoun  was  understood  to 
be  a  good  shot ;  he  came  from  Carolina. 
Trouncey  had  embarrassed  that  rifle  with 
cold  soapsuds,  dried  it  carefully  upon  the 
outside,  and  put  it  back  in  the  closet  of 
Calhoun's  apartment.  For  the  chance  that 
Calhoun  might  have  discovered  the  trick  and 
reloaded,  —  he  risked  it,  being  the  son  of  his 
father.  The  law  of  chances  was  against  it. 
Trouncey  felt  that  it  was  the  advantage  of 
an  education  to  know  that. 


44  DONALD   MARCY. 

It  is  my  unpleasant  duty  to  record  that 
Calhoun  was  subjected  to  almost  every  in 
dignity  that  Harle  Sophomores,  in  those  long- 
past  days,  ever  inflicted  upon  an  unpopular 
Freshman.  The  incident  of  the  rifle  made 
the  Sophomores  too  angry  to  keep  their 
senses. 

Calhoun  was  choked,  tossed  in  a  blanket 
till  he  hit  the  ceiling,  run  out  of  his  window 
on  a  rope,  dangled  in  the  cold  night  air  in  a 
very  lightly  robed  condition,  fed  with  milk 
from  a  bottle,  and  washed  with  vinegar  and 
salt. 

His  infuriated  resistance  added  fire  to  the 
boys'  vengeance ;  and  worse  things  soon  fell 
upon  him. 

The  night  had  now  worn  on  to  be  quite  late. 

Seizing  a  convenient  opportunity,  when 
discovery  was  unlikely,  the  hazing  party 
took  their  victim,  dressed  only  in  flannel  and 
trousers,  out  of  doors  and  tied  him  in  a 
wheelbarrow,  by  means  of  which  they  rode 
him  to  a  pump  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town. 
The  night  was  cold.  The  water  was  colder. 
The  Freshman  was  held  under  the  pump, 
and,  it  must  be  admitted,  cruelly  ducked. 

"  I  '11  kill  you  !  "  hissed  Calhoun  between 
his  teeth.  "  If  1  live  to  get  out  of  this,  I  '11 


BURIED   ALIVE.  45 

shoot  every  man  of  you  down  as  I  would  so 
many  niggers." 

"  Pity  you  said  that,"  drawled  Ben  Braggs. 
"  We  'd  have  let  you  go,  if  you  had  n't.  Now 
we  shall  have  to  bury  you  alive  in  simple 
self-defense.  You  're  in  for  it  now." 

"  Look  here,"  said  Trouncey  O'Grian, 
"  we  've  gone  far  enough.  I  move  we  're  out 
of  it." 

Trouncey's  view  of  the  case  did  not  meet 
with  general  approval ;  and  he,  at  that  point, 
left  the  party.  He  said  he  did  n't  think  it 
was  fair  play,  and  he  was  tired  of  it. 

"  All  right,"  said  Braggs.  "  We  '11  do 
without  you." 

"  Get  him  some  dry  clothes  first,"  urged 
Marcy,  excited  and  hesitating.  "  Anyhow, 
we  must  n't  kill  the  fellow." 

So  Calhoun  was  taken  into  the  shelter  of 
a  shed,  and  rubbed  off,  and  put  into  fresh 
clothes  that  somebody  brought  from  some 
where  ;  and  then,  forthwith,  that  hazing 
party  did  proceed  to  an  old,  deserted  ceme 
tery  without  the  city  limits,  where  a  scout  or 
two  awaited  them,  —  standing  like  mourners, 
mutely  in  the  ghastly  dark.  A  coffin  stood 
there  on  a  bier.  Beyond  it,  yawned  a  newly- 
made  grave.  The  tombstones  of  the  long-for- 


46  DONALD  MARCY. 

gotten  dead  slanted  tipsily,  showing  faintly 
white  in  the  night,  and  in  the  flash  of  a 
single  dark  lantern,  carried  by  one  of  the 
boys. 

Calhoun  was  now  wild  with  terror;  but 
either  he  had  too  much  spirit  left  to  mani 
fest  the  full  force  of  his  fears,  or  the  boys 
were  now  too  far  gone  in  the  hazing  fever  to 
appreciate  the  real  seriousness  of  the  situa 
tion.  They  were  not  brutes,  though  they 
acted  like  them  ;  and  who  meant  to  hurt  the 
fellow  ?  It  was  only  "  college  fun." 

Calhoun  was  uncompromisingly  buried. 
He  was  put  into  the  coffin,  the  lid  shut,  only 
the  face-lid  turned  back  to  give  him  air ;  he 
was  actually  lowered  by  ropes  into  the  newly- 
made  grave,  and  left  there.  Voices  called 
to  him  to  say  his  prayers.  Other  voices 
chanted  dirges  upon  the  edge  of  his  grave. 
Then  the  earth  began  to  drop  upon  that  cof 
fin,  —  a  handful  first.  The  half-insensible 
man,  listening  in  an  agony,  heard  a  spade 
ful  fall,  —  another  ;  two,  three,  —  more  — 

"  Great  heavens  ! "  thought  Calhoun. 
"  They  are  burying  me  alive  !  I  scared 
them,  saying  I  'd  shoot  them  —  and  they  're 
afraid  to  let  me  go.  I  am  murdered  !  I  am 
buried  alive ! ' 


BURIED   ALIVE.  47 

He  called  in  mortal  terror  for  help  — 
mercy  —  life  —  pardon  -  -  everything  he 
could  think  of  that  might  appeal  to  the 
sympathy  of  the  young  savages.  But  no  one 
answered  him. 

Steps  retreated,  —  grew  fainter,  —  ceased. 
The  Freshman  in  his  coffin  was  left  alone. 
Giving  one  yell  of  despair,  he  swooned  away 
from  the  consciousness  of  his  situation. 


CHAPTER  V. 

GHOSTS  ! 

WHEN  the  hazing  party  had  stealthily  left 
the  cemetery,  they  stood  outside  the  walls 
consulting  in  whispers  what  to  do  next.  Don 
Marcy  was  not  happy.  A  growing  uneasi 
ness  possessed  him  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
pleasure  in  that  night's  performance.  It  did 
not  seem  to  him  as  funny  as  he  had  expected, 
to  put  a  live  man  through  a  mock  burial, 
and  go  off  and  leave  him  in  a  coffin  at  the 
bottom  of  a  grave. 

"  I  move  we  go  right  back,"  suggested 
Don. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Braggs,  "  too  soon  yet. 
Scare  him  a  little.  Leave  him  there  half  an 
hour  or  so." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  urged  Donald 
more  earnestly.  "  I  think  we  've  gone  far 
enough  with  this  thing,  boys." 

For  his  own  part,  Don  wished  he  had 
backed  out  of  the  whole  thing  when  Troun- 
cey  O'Grian  did.  But  he  did  not  feel  like 


GHOSTS!  49 

saying  so.  He  was  a  little  ashamed  that  the 
prize-fighter's  son  should  have  shown  a  finer 
sense  of  hazing  honor  than  he  himself. 

The  rest  of  the  fellows  wavered,  but,  on 
the  whole,  disagreed  with  him.  Ben  Braggs 
carried  the  day,  or,  we  might  say,  carried  the 
night,  and  the  students  seated  themselves  on 
the  cemetery  wall,  to  wait  awhile,  *till  the 
buried  Freshman  should  be  suitably  pun 
ished  for  all  his  general  and  particular  un 
popularity.  A  few  took  their  cigars  ;  but 
most  of  them  did  not  smoke.  The  receiving- 
tomb  looked  a  little  too  near,  and  too  ghastly, 
rising  gray  and  dumb^in  the  darkness  beside 
them.  Thoughts  they  would  not  entertain 
glided  through  their  minds  like  ghosts.  They 
heartily  wished,  some  of  them,  that  the 
business  were  over.  But  they  thought  it 
"  manly  "  not  to  say  so.  They  began  to  talk 
in  low  tones,  to  keep  each  other's  courage  up. 
The  fellow  who  held  the  dark  lantern  turned 
it  round  and  round  perpetually,  with  a  be 
nevolent  intention  of  enlivening  the  scene. 
When  the  dark  side  came  toward  the  grave 
yard,  he  looked  over  his  shoulder.  Then  the 
fellow  beside  him  would  start  and  look  over 
his  shoulder.  In  fact,  all  those  brave  boys 
who  had  fallen,  ten  to  one,  upon  a  defense- 


50  DONALD  MARCY. 

less  fellow,  and  subjected  him  to  outrages 
which  the  civil  statutes  would  have  probably 
justified  him  in  resenting  with  the  sacrifice 
of  their  ten  lives,  —  all  those  courageous 
young  men  looked  over  their  shoulders  with 
a  frequency  and  a  nervousness  surprising  ; 
and  always  did  they  look  in  the  direction  of 
the  tipsy  old  tombstones,  and  the  deserted 
dead. 

While  they  were  amusing  each  other  in 
this  desolate  fashion,  Donald  Marcy,  unno 
ticed  by  any  of  the  hazing  party,  had  slipped 
away. 

He  had  now  becom%too  uneasy  to  bear  it 
another  moment.  As  he  made  his  way  back 
silently  through  the  graveyard,  to  the  spot 
where  Calhoun  had  been  left,  he  wondered 
how  he  ever  could  have  thought  it  amusing 
to  get  into  such  a  scrape  as  this.  Stretching 
out  his  arms  to  feel  his  way,  he  shrank  back 
with  an  awful  chill  ;  they  had  closed  about 
the  cold  body  of  a  slate  headstone,  a  hundred 
years  old.  As  he  clasped  it,  the  stone  stirred, 
shook,  and  lumbered  heavily  over  upon  him. 
With  an  exclamation  of  horror,  and  a 
bruised  knee,  Donald  extricated  himself  from 
the  horrid  weight  and  pushed  on. 

His  feet  sank  in  sodden  places  whose  na- 


GHOSTS!  51 

ture  lie  did  not  dare  to  contemplate.  Stum 
bling  in  and  out,  and  hurrying  to  put  an  end 
to  these  horrors,  he  tripped  and  fell  over  a 
large  flat  mound,  which  must  have  been  a 
grave  made  not  too  long  ago  to  have  lost  its 
natural  proportions.  Briers  and  mud  rubbed 
his  face  and  tore  his  hands  as  he  lay  there  ; 
and  disgust  entered  his  heart  as  he  struggled 
up  and  made  on. 

He  had  now  managed  to  reach  the  open 
grave  where  the  partially  entombed  Fresh 
man  lay.  As  he  came  up  to  the  dark  and 
dreadful  spot,  it  seemed  less  and  less  amus 
ing  to  Donald  that  he  should  have  had  a 
hand  in  this  affair.  No  sound  issued  from 
the  grave.  It  was  as  still  as  it  was  dark. 

"  Calhoun  !  "  called  Marcy  softly. 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  Calhoun  !     Lee  Calhoun !     Calhoun  /  " 

Silence  only  answered  what  had  become  a 
very  eagerly  urgent  cry.  That  silence  did 
not  seem  funny  at  all  to  Donald  Marcy  ;  in 
fact,  a  biennial  examination  would  have  been 
funnier.  It  would  have  struck  him  as  more 
interesting  at  that  moment  to  have  been 
cramming  for  rank,  or  earning  the  name  of 
a  "  dig,"  or  even  getting  up  in  season  to  go 
to  morning  prayers,  or  pursuing  any  of  those 


52  DONALD  MARCY. 

secondary  and  immaterial  college  occupa 
tions  with  which  the  fellow  who  "  goes  in  for 
fun  "  fails  to  concern  himself. 

"  Lee  Cal-hou-ou-oim  /  "  cried  the  repent 
ant  Sophomore,  in  real  distress.  "  Don't 
make  game  of  me !  I  've  come  to  let  you  out. 
Speak  up,  man  !  Why  don't  you  cmswer?  " 

But  the  buried  Freshman,  like  other  dead 
men,  gave  no  reason  why.  The  grave's  depth 
was  dumb  to  the  cry  of  the  grave's  edge  ; 
there  as  anywhere ;  there  as  everywhere. 
Great  heavens  !  What  had  the  mock  death 
become  ? 

The  murder? 

Marcy,  the  cold  drops  bursting  on  his 
forehead,  struck  a  match  and  held  it,  shel 
tered  in  his  trembling  hand,  far  over  the 
gaping  mouth  of  the  grave.  By  the  flut 
tering  light  he  could  distinctly  see  a  sight 
which  his  young  life  carried  with  him  from 
that  moment,  a  scorching  imprint,  —  a  pho 
tograph  cut  in  vitriol  upon  his  bare  and 
shrinking  brain. 

Lee  Calhoun  lay  in  the  coffin  as  he  had 
been  left,  quite  quietly,  his  face  turned  over 
on  one  side ;  there  were  no  evidences  of  a 
struggle.  Why,  a  plucky  fellow,  a  live  fel 
low,  could  have  got  out !  Calhoun' s  counte- 


GHOSTS!  53 

nance  was  the  countenance  of  the  dead ;  its 
pallor,  rigidity,  —  the  eyes,  the  jaw  !  Marcy 
gave  one  look,  uttered  a  terrible  cry  for  help, 
and  without  waiting  for  it,  went  crashing 
into  that  grave.  He  tore  off  the  coffin-lid 
with  his  strong  hands ;  he  jerked  the  head 
of  the  unhappy  Freshman  into  the  air,  sat 
the  body  upright,  and  felt  for  the  heart.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  it  beat,  but  if  so,  it  was 
a  motion  which  could  stop  so  much  more 
easily  than  it  could  go  on,  that  he  felt  no 
perceptible  sense  of  relief. 

The  fellows  did  not  come.  Had  they  not 
heard  him  ?  Where  were  the  fellows  ?  And 
Marcy  and  the  dead  or  dying  man  sat  up 
together  in  that  coffin  at  the  bottom  of  that 
grave,  as  helpless  and  useless  members  of 
society  as  any  two  students  in  Harle  Uni 
versity. 

But  Donald  was  an  ingenious  fellow,  as 
well  as  a  strong  one,  and,  realizing  now  the 
full  dreadfulness  of  his  situation,  put  all  his 
mind  and  muscle  to  the  proof,  and  slowly 
lifted  the  unfortunate  Freshman  out  of  the 
coffin ;  and  so,  as  quickly  and  gently  as  he 
might,  he  dragged  the  burden  to  the  upper 
air,  and  laid  it  upon  the  grass  at  the  grave's 
edge. 


54  DONALD  MARCY. 

"  Boys  !  "  he  called  in  an  appealing  voice. 
"  Boys,  come  quick  !  Trouble  here  !  Fel 
lows  !  " 

But  the  boys  did  not  come ;  nor  did  they 
answer.  Thinking  that  they  were  vexed 
with  him  for  leaving  the  hazing  party,  and 
visiting  the  victim  on  his  own  responsibility, 
and  that  they  purposely  refrained  from  re 
sponding  to  his  cry,  or  had  indeed  perhaps 
gone  home  and  left  him  to  his  corpse  and  his 
fate,  Donald  reexamined  Calhoun's  body  as 
well  as  he  knew  how,  putting  to  the  test  all 
his  knowledge  —  he  was  surprised  to  find  it 
as  vague  as  his  views  of  the  higher  mathe 
matics  —  of  the  practicable  means  of  resusci 
tating  a  human  being  from  apparent  death. 
It  was  awkward  work  in  the  dark  and  under 
the  circumstances.  He  fanned  the  body ;  he 
breathed  upon  the  body  ;  he  sat  it  up ;  he 
laid  it  down ;  he  rubbed  it  and  he  warmed 
it.  He  .had  no  water  ;  he  had  no  brandy  ; 
he  had  nothing  but  his  own  warm  life  and 
throbbing  agony  to  save.  He  was  so  agi 
tated  that  he  began  to  sob  there  by  himself. 
It  was  a  terrible  moment. 

"  There !  "  he  cried  at  last,  not  caring  if 
all  the  world  should  hear  him.  "  That  heart 
does  beat !  Thank  God  !  Thank  God  !  " 


GHOSTS !  55 

At  this  instant  steps  were  heard  upon  the 
graveyard  grass.  Voices  sounded.  Figures 
were  coining  up,  stumbling  across  the  graves. 
They  were  not  the  boys. 

After  Marcy  had  left  the  hazing  party, 
that  philosophical  group  of  young  men  sat 
on,  entertaining  themselves  grimly  upon  the 
cemetery  walls.  A  few  ghost  stories,  miti 
gated  by  college  anecdotes,  a  few  cigarettes, 
and  a  pint  of  peanuts,  served  to  pass  the 
time.  They  did  not  immediately  miss  Don 
ald.  When  they  discovered  his  absence  it 
was  with  extreme  displeasure. 

"  He 's  gone  home,"  said  one  of  the  fel 
lows  contemptuously.  "  He  's  backed  out. 
He 's  left  us  to  finish  the  job." 

"  Marcy  is  n't  that  kind,"  suggested  some 
body  else  reasonably.  "  Great  Scott ! 
What's  that?" 

"What's  what?     Where?" 

"  There  !  There 's  somebody  coming  out 
of  that  receiving-vault.  I  saw  something 
more  —  there  —  past  the  door !  See  ?  " 

"By  Jove!  No!  Yes!  Where?  How? 
Yes  !  No,  I  don't !  Do  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't.  Can't  be  anything.  Great 
gracious !  what  makes  you  look  so  ?  You  're 
as  pale  as  a  woman  !  " 


56  DONALD   MARCY. 

"  Might  be  Marcy.     Must  be  Marcy." 

"  Ghosts  are  played  out,"  said  one  fellow 
contemptuously.  "  Protoplasm  's  done  away 
with  'em.  Spooks  are  out  of  fashion.  They 
give  us  the  amosba  these  days.  No  chance 
for  dead  people.  The  missing  link  takes  it. 
Don't  be  jackasses.  It 's  Marcy,  of  course. 
Marcy  f" 

The  boys  huddled  together.  They  all 
looked  a  little  gray  about  the  mouth.  He 
who  had  the  dark  lantern  flashed  it  full  on 
the  receiving-vault. 

Marcy  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  They 
called  him  in  every  tone  of  jest,  anger, 
threat,  and  entreaty.  No  one  responded. 
One  of  the  boys  swore  that  the  door  of  the 
receiving-tomb  swung  in  and  out  upon  its 
hinges.  Another  vowed  that  a  muffled  fig 
ure  glided  behind  the  old  brick  vault,  and 
crouched  and  watched  there.  There  was  one 
fellow  who  saw  six  apparitions,  and  each 
had  eyes  of  flame,  and  their  winding-sheets 
smoked.  Ben  Braggs  moved  that  they  go 
home.  He  explained  that  he  did  not  refer 
to  the  ghosts.  They  were  on  their  own 
ground ;  had  a  right  there,  so  far  as  he 
knew;  and,  so  far  as  he  cared,  they  were 
welcome  to  it.  One  of  the  boys  reminded 


GHOSTS!  57 

him  that  they  could  n't  go  home  and  leave  a 
fellow  buried  alive.  He  thought  they  might 
get  as  much  as  forty  marks  apiece  for  it. 

While  they  were  disputing  and  discussing 
the  situation  in  their  fashion,  one  of  the 
most  nervous  fellows  in  the  group  suddenly 
gave  a  piercing  yell,  and  took  to  his  legs  as 
fast  as  he  could,  without  a  word  or  sign  of 
explanation.  The  boys  sprang  to  their  feet 
simultaneously,  and  glared  at  the  receiving- 
vault  with  dilated  eyes.  Their  teeth  chat 
tered  in  their  heads  when  they  distinguished, 
past  the  doubt  or  query  of  the  coolest  or 
bravest,  two  tall,  vague,  threatening  figures 
advancing  upon  them  from  the  tomb.  There 
was  no  Marcy  about  that.  The  rest  of  the 
hazing  party  made  after  the  nervous  fellow 
as  fast  as  possible,  and  stayed  to  make  no 
further  investigations.  They  got  a  good 
start,  and  clattered  down  the  long,  deserted, 
frozen  road  like  wild  colts.  The  apparitions 
gave  chase.  They  certainly  did  that  very 
thing.  This  circumstance  added  vigor  to  the 
scene.  Presumably,  the  boys  were  younger 
and  better  gymnasts  than  the  tenants  of  a 
graveyard  of  that  ancient  description.  At 
any  rate,  they  had  their  start,  and  kept  the 
advantage  of  it.  The  ghosts  gave  out  be- 


58  DONALD   MARCY. 

fore  long,  very  much  out  of  breath,  and 
returned  to  their  receiving-tomb  in  ghostly 
silence. 

Donald  Marcy,  sitting  on  the  graveyard 
grass  with  Calhoun's  head  upon  his  lap,  and 
Calhoun's  pulse  beneath  his  terrified  fingers, 
looked  up  in  his  quick,  alert  fashion,  when 
he  heard  the  steps  approaching  him  across 
the  graves.  He  was  uncomfortable,  there  is 
no  denying.  It  was  almost  entirely  dark. 
The  figures  advanced  in  a  silence  which  was 
appalling. 

There  was  no  whisper ;  not  a  breath  could 
be  heard.  They  came  like  shadows,  as  un 
substantial,  and  as  still.  Don  did  not  find 
this  funny  either  ;  but  he  did  not  flinch ;  he 
was  responsible  for  a  human  life,  and  he  sat 
at  his  post  doggedly. 

Suddenly  one  of  the  figures  melted  from 
sight.  It  had  never  occurred  to  Don  before 
that  a  ghost  could  stumble  over  its  own 
grave  ;  but  this  one  had,  —  it  had  gone  down 
in  a  heap  upon  the  brambly  mound.  The 
other  one  came  to  a  standstill  beside  it. 
Then  a  voice,  live,  human,  and  emphatic, 
broke  the  dismal  silence  :  — 

"Be  jabers,  then,   I've   thripped  over  a 


GHOSTS!  59 

dooced  corrups  !  The  oncivil  gossoon  !  why 
don't  he  kape  in  his  own  quharthers  ?  Saint 
Father  tache  him  manners  !  " 

It  was  the  too  familiar  voice  of  Jerry  Mc- 
Carty. 

"  Are  you  hurt,  my  dear  sir  ?  "  inquired 
the  modulated,  controlled  speech  of  a  gentle 
man  who  was  divided  between  wrath  and 
laughter. 

That  was  the  educated  accent  of  the  tutor 
in  North  Middle's  second  floor. 

Donald  Marcy  waited  to  see  and  to  hear 
no  more.  Confident  that  Calhoun  would 
now  be  discovered,  and  every  care  given 
to  the  unlucky  Freshman,  the  Sophomore 
thought  it  time  to  give  some  attention  to 
his  personal  salvation.  He  slid  his  knees 
out  from  under  Lee's  head,  laid  the  body 
gently  down,  and  glided  away.  In  a  mo 
ment  he  was  over  the  graveyard  wall,  and 
dashing  through  the  underbrush  of  a  little 
grove  of  pines,  which  faithfully  concealed 
his  flight. 

A  slight  noise  whirred  through  the  leaves 
over  his  head,  followed  by  a  sharp  report. 
He  recognized  Jerry  McCarty's  revolver. 
But  Jerry  had  missed  that  time,  as  he  prob 
ably  meant  to. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IS    IT   MURDER? 

WHEN  the  monitor  marked  the  roll  at 
prayers  next  morning,  he  passed  his  pencil 
opposite  the  name  of  "  Calhoun,  Lee." 

All  the  hazing  party  were  conspicuously 
and  virtuously  present  at  that  devotional 
exercise.  They  were  thoroughly  alarmed  at 
the  state  of  the  case  as  daylight  revealed  it 
to  college  rumor.  The  facts  were  running 
like  forest  fire  all  over  the  university  by 
eight  o'clock. 

The  tutor,  Mr.  Middleton,  to  whose  in 
genious  mind  it  had  occurred  in  the  course 
of  the  evening  that  something  had  gone 
wrong  in  his  Freshman  floor,  had,  it  seemed, 
instituted  entirely  on  his  own  behalf  the 
chase  which  resulted  in  tracking  down  the 
offenders.  His  meeting  with  Jerry  McCarty 
was  one  of  those  fortunate  accidents  which 
sometimes  befall  law  and  order  in  college 
government.  Jerry,  whose  dogged  and  lim 
ited  intellect  had  not  yet  evolved  beyond  the 


18  IT  MURDER?  61 

absorbing  subject  of  body-snatching,  track 
ing  the  hazing  party  on  his  own  account, 
confident,  excited,  and  relentless,  had  come 
face  to  face  with  the  tutor  behind  the  receiv 
ing-vault.  When  the  two  men  reached  the 
open  grave  from  which  the  flying  figure  of 
Donald  Marcy  had  retreated  in  good  order, 
Jerry's  professional  pleasure  amounted  to 
personal  agitation,  —  he  was  so  sure,  now,  of 
his  game  and  his  glory.  The  policeman's 
countenance,  as  he  lighted  and  swung  his 
lantern  upon  the  prostrate  figure  of  the 
Freshman,  was  a  memorable  sight. 

"  Begorra,  it 's  a  corrups  !  "  cried  Jerry, 
radiant.  "  But,  be  jabers  !  "  —  his  face  fell 
like  a  plummet  in  a  deep  sea  —  "  it 's  a  live 
corrups,  bad  luck  to  'em  !  Glory  to  God !  " 
added  Jerry,  with  gratification,  putting  his 
practiced  hand  to  Calhoun's  heart.  "  It 's 
me  belafe  we'll  have  a  murther  here,  sir, 
ennyhow.  There  's  some  comfort  in  that, 
sir." 

The  outlook  for  Calhoun,  even  as  late  as 
the  next  morning,  was  dark  enough  to  jus 
tify  the  policeman's  prognosis. 

The  poor  fellow  had  been  carefully  re 
moved  to  his  room,  and  faithfully  watched 
all  night  by  the  best  medical  skill  in  the 


62  DONALD   MARCY. 

city.  He  was  breathing,  but  still  uncon 
scious.  His  brain,  the  physicians  said,  was 
affected  ;  how  much,  time  only  could  deter 
mine.  He  might  not  outlive  the  day ;  in 
which  event  they  should  give  a  verdict  of 
"  Death  from  exposure  and  fright."  He 
might  fall  into  brain  fever  of  a  violent  and 
deadly  type.  He  might  simply  sink  into 
insanity  or  idiocy.  Such  was  the  cheerful 
choice  of  results  liable  to  follow  from  one 
evening's  hazing,  and  "  a  little  fun."  Per 
haps  this  is  the  place  to  say  that  such 
"  fun "  as  this  has  been  long  since  aban 
doned  at  Harle  College.  Calhoun's  case 
came  into  the  rude  and  now  outgrown  days 
of  hazing  history. 

The  students  of  Harle  College  were  sober 
enough  that  morning.  It  was  quite  un 
necessary  for  the  hazors  to  assume  any  of 
those  expressions  of  hilarity  or  indifference 
by  which  the  college  boy  is  accustomed  to 
hide  his  head  in  the  sand  of  his  offenses. 
Such  idle  pretense  would  only  have  identi 
fied  them  in  the  general  gloom  and  anxiety. 

Donald  Marcy,  if  not  the  most  guilty,  was, 
perhaps,  the  most  sensitive  of  the  culprits ; 
and  his  distress  was  greater  than  the  sunny, 
easy,  happy  -  go  -  lucky  fellow  knew  how  to 


IS   IT  MURDER?  63 

bear.  Life  had  gone  lightly  with  Don  ;  it 
had'  been  one  long  play-day ;  the  events  of 
his  young  history  had  been  so  many  games 
to  be  won  on  holiday  afternoons.  He  had 
always  come  off  on  the  winning  side.  His 
father  had  supplied  him  freely  with  money 
for  the  asking ;  his  mother  was  an  invalid 
who  was  disabled  from  interfering  with  his 
wishes,  and  quite  unfit  to  do  so  if  she  could. 
From  the  restraints  of  a  home  which  Don 
did  not  love  very  much,  he  had  easily  freed 
himself  since  he  came  to  college,  by  vacation 
stays  too  short  to  interfere  with  his  freedom 
as  a  rare  and  flying  guest.  He  had  traveled, 
visited,  yachted,  flirted,  sung,  joked, .  and 
laughed  his  way  through  his  irresponsible 
youth  so  merrily  and  so  charmingly,  that  it 
seldom  occurred  to  anybody  to  find  more 
fault  with  him  than  with  a  bumble-bee.  He 
had  never  been  a  bad  boy.  Vice  was  vulgar, 
and  Don  had  the  tastes  of  a  gentleman.  On 
the  whole,  too,  he  had  meant  to  study — - 
some  time  ;  he  would  take  rank  —  when  he 
got  round  to  it.  The  primary  object  of  a 
collegiate  education,  of  course,  was  to  have 
a  good  time,  and  form  pleasant  acquaint 
ances  ;  that  achieved,  he  really  preferred  to 
come  singing  to  the  upper  end  of  the  upper 


64  DONALD  MARCY. 

division  of  his  large  class;  in  fact,  lie  pic 
tured  himself  as  waltzing  in  among  the 
honors  at  the  turn  of  the  dance,  when  it 
suited  him,  as  some  day  it  assuredly  would. 
For  Don  was  no  dunce  ;  in  his  solitary  mo 
ments,  —  he  had  but  few  such  moments  ;  he 
was  too  popular,  there  was  always  a  fellow 
around,  or  a  girl  to  take  somewhere,  —  in 
his  attacks  of  occasional  solitude,  he  went  so 
far,  sometimes,  as  to  dream  of  scholarship, 
and  intellectual  power  and  the  world  of 
thought,  and  the  glory  thereof.  But  he 
supposed  that  kind  of  thing  would  come  to 
him,  somehow,  without  too  much  trouble. 
Everything  else  had. 

Then  he  had  been  such  a  likable  fellow  ; 
it  had  occupied  most  of  his  time  to  see  that 
people  loved  him  ;  they  always  did.  It  was 
a  matter  of  course.  Popularity  is  an  occu 
pation,  if  not  a  trade.  Don  had  accepted 
his  sincerely  enough,  —  he  was  no  trickster, 
—  but  it  had  kept  him  quite  busy.  Matters 
had  always  gone  pleasantly  with  the  lova 
ble  fellow.  His  classmates  liked  him  ;  his 
young  lady  friends  fell  in  love  with  him ; 
his  "  sweep  "  and  his  laundress  adored  him  ; 
the  society  of  whatever  place  he  might  hap 
pen  to  bestow  his  easy  young  presence  upon 


IS  IT  MURDER?  65 

invited  him  ;  even  the  faculty  had  never 
been  hard  on  him  ;  he  called  on  the  Profes 
sor's  daughters,  and  was  on  pleasant  per 
sonal  terms  with  the  President,  and,  up  to 
this  time,  had  successfully  evaded  the  black 
list  of  college  discipline.  Don  had  seen  no 
reason  why  this  sort  of  thing  t should  not  go 
on  forever.  When  he  came  face  to  face 
with  the  full  horror  and  the  full  danger  of 
the  Calhoun  affair,  into  whose  consequences 
he  had  suffered  himself  to  slip  so  jauntily, 
the  shock  was  something  inconceivable  by  a 
more  thoughtful  or  a  worse  boy. 

Don  was  almost  too  miserable  to  keep 
about,  and  play  the  little  part  necessary  to 
his  own  self-preservation.  He  sat  most  of 
the  day  in  his  own  room,  with  Jamie  Fleet. 
Don's  room  was  less  gorgeous  than  it  used 
to  be  in  Freshman  year;  he  had  learned 
simplicity  of  living,  and  the  healthy  pleasure 
of  adapting  one's  self  to  the  circumstances 
of  one's  comrades  ;  it  was  a  pretty,  comfort 
able  room,  handsomely  appointed,  but  of  a 
little  more  studious  cast.  The  Axminster 
carpet  remained  ;  but  there  was  less  bric-a- 
brac,  the  upholstery  was  shabbier,  and  there 
were  more  books. 

Don  sat  in   his  pleasant  room  with  his 


66  DONALD  MARCY. 

sympathetic  chum,  and  faced  his  first  serious 
scrape  as  well  as  he  could.  Jamie  was  grave ; 
it  was  a  grave  business.  Jamie  never  went 
in  for  that  sort  of  thing.  But  he  did  not 
preach  to  Don,  or  exasperate  him  by  one 
"  I-told-you-so."  Jamie's  quiet  "  Did  n't 
pay,  Don,  did  it  ? "  meant  more  to  Don 
than  any  keener  moral  rebuke  that  ever  vis 
ited  him. 

"  Jamie,"  said  Don  wretchedly,  "  if  I  ever 
get  out  of  this,  I  '11  try  a  new  track." 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  will ! "  cried  Jamie 
Fleet  lovingly.  He  looked  up  from  his 
Tacitus  with  sad,  adoring  eyes,  that  followed 
Don  with  something  finer  than  reproach. 

"  But  he  '11  die,"  groaned  Don.  "  Calhoun 
will  die,  I  know  he  will.  I  expect  some  of 
us  will  be  hung,  J.  It 's  just  as  likely  to  be 
I.  I  don't  know,"  added  Don  desperately, 
"  but  I  should  rather  be  hung.  I  think  I 
should  enjoy  it.  If  Calhoun  dies,  I  don't 
see  but  it  would  be  the  only  thing  left  for 
a  fellow  to  do,  to  give  himself  up  to  the 
authorities.  I  '11  do  it,  if  you  say  so,  J. 
You  're  about  right,  every  time." 

"  I  'd  wait  awhile,"  said  Jamie  Fleet  en 
couragingly.  "Don't  plan  for  the  gallows 
to-day.  Learn  your  Latin,  and  keep  in  your 


IS   IT  MURDER?  67 

room,  and  stay  by  me.  You  can't  do  better. 
It  will  steady  your  head." 

"  Bless  you,  J,"  said  Don  forlornly,  tak 
ing  up  his  books,  "  I  know  how  a  boat  feels 
tugging  at  her  anchor,  when  I  sit  here  with 
you.  I  want  to  get  up  and  go,  and  be  into 
something,  —  but  I  'm  happier  here.  I  really 
am,  Jamie.  But  Lee  will  die.  I  am  a  mur 
derer.  Lee  Calhoun  will  die.  He  's  just  such 
a  flat,"  added  Don,  with  a  spurt  of  his  nat 
ural  spirit.  "  Why,  I  could  have  made  my 
way  out  of  that  coffin  in  no  time.  What 
are  a  few  screws  ?  It  only  needed  a  little 
gumption  and  muscle.  Just  like  Lee  !  " 

Lee  did  not  die  that  day.  He  lived  till 
morning,  and  despair  blunted  into  acute 
anxiety.  He  held  on  two  days,  and  the 
more  sanguine  students  began  easily  to  hope. 
On  the  third  day,  he  showed  signs  of  con 
sciousness,  and  fifteen  hundred  faces  in 
Harle  College  brightened.  The  next  morn 
ing  his  physician  pronounced  him  in  for  a 
clear  case  of  brain  fever,  and  fifteen  hundred 
faces  fell. 

Now  the  bitterest  lesson  of  life  —  the  tor 
ment  of  prolonged  suspense  —  set  in  for  the 
hazing  party. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A   MANLY   ACT. 

THE  students  all  bore  the  suspense  of 
Calhoun's  illness  better,  in  a  way,  than 
Don,  whose  athletic  strength  shook  beneath 
the  strain.  lie  paled  and  weakened  and 
worried,  till  Jamie  Fleet  warned  him  that 
the  faculty  would  need  no  evidence  against 
him ;  his  own  honest  face  would  be  his  un 
answerable  accuser.  Don  replied  that  he 
did  n't  care  if  it  did.  If  he  'd  got  to  be  a 
murderer,  he  need  n't  be  a  cheat ;  and  if 
this  lasted  many  weeks  more  he  should  die 
before  Lee  did,  and  glad  of  it. 

"  Oh,  brace  up !  "  said  Trouncey  O'Grian. 
"  Brace  up,  and  square  off !  " 

But  that  same  day  Trouncey  came  into 
the  rhetoric  class  looking  almost  as  pale  as 
Don.  He  tossed  over  six  settees  a  paper 
ball,  which  Don,  snatching,  unfolded,  and 
read :  — 

"  Faculty  swooped  like  a  wolf  on  the  fold. 
Braggs  and  me  hit  for  ringleaders.  Shall 
be  sat  on  to-night." 


A   MANLY  ACT.  69 

And,  indeed,  that  night,  at  half -past 
eleven,  Trouncey  tumbled  into  Donald's 
room,  and  flinging  himself  into  Fleet's  empty 
revolving  study-chair  (Jamie  had  gone  to 
bed),  put  his  feet  on  the  table,  wheeled 
around  slowly,  and  heavily  said  :  — 

"  It 's  all  up,  Marey.  I  'm  expelled  from 
Harle  College." 

"  What  for  ?  "  asked  Don  sharply,  wheel 
ing  too. 

"  Oh,  for  the  graveyard  business." 

"  Nothing  else  ?  " 

"  They  did  n't  mention  anything  else. 
That  was  the  point.  Buried  alive  ;  brutal 
ity,  and  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Did  you  deny  it?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes.  I  said  I  never  hit  foul. 
I  said  I  was  n't  there.  Middleton  said  I 
was.  Prexy  advised  me  to  own  up.  Said 
it  would  be  better  for  me.  I  said  I  'd  be 
blanked  first,  for  I  was  n't  there.  So  I  was 
expelled.  That 's  all." 

"  Anything  said  about  me  ?  "  asked  Don 
ald  thoughtfully ;  his  handsome  face,  refined 
by  the  suffering  of  the  last  few  weeks, 
showed  sensitive  agitation  while  Trouncey 
spoke. 

"  Not  a  word.     Did  n't  seem  to  spot  you. 


70  DONALD   MARCY. 

Impression  out  that  you  were  cramming  for 
Peeker  Prizes  that  night.  Friends  of  yours 
circulated  it.  I  'm  glad  of  it,"  added  Troun- 
cey  generously.  "  I  don't  want  you  floored." 

There  was  a  silence  between  the  two  boys, 
which  neither  seemed  inclined  to  break. 
Don  did  not  even  offer  Trouncey  a  cigar,  — 
the  occasion  seemed  above  smoking,  some 
how.  Donald  looked  haggardly  at  Troun- 
cey's  big,  good-natured,  lumbering  face.  Its 
distress  was  the  more  striking  because  he 
could  not  remember  ever  to  have  seen 
Trouncey  look  sad  before. 

"  My  father,"  added  the  prize-fighter's 
son  stoutly,  "  will  knock  me  down.  I  ex 
pect  he  '11  kill  me,  he  '11  be  so  mad.  He 
thought  I  'd  make  a  scholar,  turn  out  a  re 
spectable  fellow,  and  that  sort  of  thing ;  he 
said  he  did  n't  want  a  son  of  his  in  the  ring. 
He  promised  my  mother  he  'd  make  a  su 
perior  citizen  of  me,  —  he  did  really.  She 
died  five  years  ago.  My  father  liked  my 
mother.  She  was  a  good  woman.  Hard 
hit  to  father  that  I  'm  such  a  dunce,  any 
how.  'T  is,  really.  He  thought  I  'd  win  for 
a  purse  of  a  thousand  on  rank,  and  that.  I 
can't,  you  know,  Marcy.  'T  is  n't  in  me.  I 
expect  to  come  out  as  I  sailed  in,  —  last  divi- 


A  MANLY  ACT.  71 

sion,  and  a  good  way  down,  too.  But  I 
never  thought  I  'd  be  expelled  from  Harle," 
said  Trouncey,  with  a  broken  voice.  "  My 
mother  would  have  been  disappointed, 
would  n't  she  ?  Well,  I  can  stand  the  lick 
ing,  I  guess.  He  can  pommel  me,  if  he 
wants  to.  But  I  'm  sort  o'  glad  she  ain't 
around." 

"  Trouncey,"  said  Donald,  in  a  firm  voice, 
"you  just  wait  here  a  few  minutes,  will 
you  ?  I  've  got  a  little  errand  to  attend  to. 
I  '11  be  back  directly,  and  we  '11  get  up  some 
thing  hot,  and  talk  it  over.  I  '11  run  over 
and  get  a  few  lemons  ;  and  I  believe  I  'm 
out  of  sugar." 

Donald  Marcy  did  not  go  for  lemons  and 
sugar ;  at  least  not  just  then.  On  the  con 
trary,  he  went  to  the  President's  house  ;  he 
went  as  straight  as  he  could  go  ;  he  ran  all 
the  way,  and  came  panting  up  to  the  door 
of  the  official  mansion,  a  very  short-winded 
and  heavy-hearted  young  man. 

Yet  there  was  a  curious,  delicate  lightness 
in  his  soul,  too,  as  if  rudiments  of  wings 
were  there,  ready  to  fly,  if  they  had  a 
chance.  It  was  an  odd  sensation,  to  which 
the  boy  was  not  used. 

The  sombre  house  of  the  President  was 


72  DONALD   MARCY. 

dark ;  only  one  light  burned  in  it ;  that  was 
in  the  study,  and  the  study  was  an  ell.  The 
President  sat  in  the  room,  hard  at  work. 
The  ell  had  an  outer  door  of  its  own,  ex 
pressly  for  the  use  of  the  students,  and  Don 
ald,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  loudly 
rang  the  bell  of  the  study  door. 

The  President  opened  it  directly,  with 
some  nervousness ;  and,  seeing  who  it  was, 
he  said,  with  the  irritation  of  a  man  who 
feels  that  he  has  been  needlessly  alarmed  : 

"  Marcy  ?  Why,  come  in  !  What  can 
you  want  —  at  this  hour  ?  " 

Donald  stepped  into  the  bright,  warm 
room,  and  stood  among  the  books,  which 
reached  from  floor  to  ceiling  all  about  the 
study.  At  that  moment  nothing  seemed  so 
vivid  to  him  as  the  educated  life  which  this 
spot  represented  ;  the  honor  and  the  pre- 
ciousness  of  all  those  intangible  values  which 
come  to  a  man  from  the  self-denial  of 
thought,  and  toil,  and  gravity  of  purpose, 
and  simplicity  of  life.  His  own  vague 
young  dreams  of  the  some  time  when  he,  too, 
would  belong  to  that  high  world  which 
scholars  know,  swam  before  his  brain  diz 
zily.  He  had  to  collect  himself,  —  he  tried 
to  control  himself,  —  not  to  think  of  what 


A  MANLY  ACT.  73 

he  was  about  to  surrender  forever  ;  he  found 
it  difficult  to  articulate.  He  looked  at  the 
President  appealingly. 

"Speak  out,  man  !  "  cried  President  Bax 
ter,  a  little  crossly.  "  What  is  your  er 
rand  ?  " 

A  woman's  figure  seemed,  to  Donald's 
excited  vision,  to  float  between  his  faltering 
purpose  and  the  stern  face  of  the  college 
officer.  Odd  !  But  the  thing  which  stead 
ied  the  boy,  and  gave  him  the  grace  and 
strength  of  his  emergency  at  that  moment, 
—  the  only  thing  that  calmed  his  tumultuous 
thoughts  into  words,  and  his  words  into  the 
prompt  and  manly  ring  that  the  President 
spoke  of  afterward,  —  was  the  image  of 
Trouncey's  mother.  A  pity  to  "  disap 
point  "  a  woman,  and  a  dead  one,  too  ! 

"  Sir,"  said  Donald  simply,  "  I  Ve  come 
to  own  up.  Don't  expel  O'Grian.  He 
was  n't  in  that  graveyard  scrape.  I  was." 

When  Donald  got  back  to  his  room,  he 
had  lemons  and  sugar,  and  proceeded  qui 
etly  to  make  his  lemonade.  Trouncey  was 
asleep  on  the  lounge,  looking  as  miserable 
as  a  boy,  when  misery  could  not  keep  him 
awake,  might  be  expected  to  look. 


74  DONALD  MARCY. 

Donald  waited  till  the  lemonade  was  hot, 
and  then  brought  some  (in  his  toilet  mug), 
and  waked  the  sleeper  with  a  little  push. 

"  Come,  Trouncey,"  he  said  gently, 
"  here  's  your  lemonade.  It  's  piping  hot. 
And  you  're  not  expelled,  Trouncey.  I  've 
seen  the  President.  It  's  all  right." 

Trouncey  O'Grian  sat  up  sleepily  and 
stared  at  Donald's  excited  face. 

"  The  dickens  you  have !  —  Say !  Marcy  ? 
—  well.  Yes.  Seen  the  President !  —  Good 
heavens  !  But  what  in  time  did  he  say  to 
you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  did  n't  say  very  much,"  said 
Don  quietly.  "He  told  me  the  faculty 
would  consider  my  case  and  let  me  know  in 
a  few  days." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
THE  FACULTY'S  VIEW  OF  IT. 

HARLE  COLLEGE  grew  no  calmer  when 
the  latest  developments  in  the  hazing  scrape 
became  widely  known.  Calhoun  was  be 
ginning  to  improve ;  the  fever  had  abated, 
and  signs  of  intelligence  in  the  sick  boy 
returned.  His  doctor  ventured  to  give  a 
favorable  prognosis  for  the  outcome  of  the 
illness ;  and  the  easy  hope  of  the  sanguine 
students  bobbed  to  the  surface  gayly.  Col 
lege  sympathy,  now  that  the  Freshman's 
danger  had  decreased,  lurched  over  to  the 
popular  Sophomore. 

Ben  Braggs  was  expelled  in  good  ear 
nest;  and  there  was  no  more  than  the  usual 
amount  of  college  growling  at  this  exhibi 
tion  of  discipline.  But  Braggs  was  not  pop 
ular.  He  was  a  rough,  fast,  surly  fellow, 
who  had  disgraced  the  university  in  other 
ways  than  heavy  hazing,  before  this ;  and 
he  retired  from  the  catalogue  of  the  institu 
tion  without  any  warmer  regret  than  that 


76  DONALD   MARCY. 

vague  amount  of  class  feeling  which  the 
boys  thought  it  proper  to  expend  upon  their 
departed  comrade. 

With  Donald  it  was  another  matter. 
Everybody  liked  Don  Marcy  too  much  to 
accept  his  disgrace.  It  was  fought  like  a 
general  injustice.  Then  he  had  done  such 
a  manly,  honorable  deed  in  sacrificing  him 
self  to  save  the  prize-fighter's  son ;  in  the 
language  of  the  boys,  it  was  "  such  a  square 
deal"  that  his  immediate  popularity  was 
amazing.  Instead  of  being  the  culprit  of 
the  faculty,  Don  was  likely  to  become  the 
hero  of  the  college.  This  would  have  spoiled 
a  vainer  boy,  or  one  with  less  basis  of  real 
sense  in  his  nature.  It  might  have  hurt 
Don  more  than  it  did  but  for  the  sturdy, 
steady  power  of  his  chum,  to  which,  in  that 
hour  of  his  humiliation  and  misery,  Donald 
affectionately  yielded. 

Jamie  Fleet  loved  Don  more  than  all 
Harle  College  put  together  did  or  could, 
and  Don  knew  it ;  but  Jamie  never  flattered 
nor  fooled  him. 

In  this  case,  he  told  him,  frankly  enough, 
that  he  had  gone  too  far ;  that  he  had  done 
a  cruel  deed  :  "  not  manly,"  Jamie  called  it 
once  ;  and  Don,  who  had  never  heard  those 


THE  FACULTY'S  VIEW  OF  IT.  77 

iron  words  from  anybody's  lips  before, 
winced  before  his  gentle  friend. 

"Don't  let  the  fellows  gull  you,  Don," 
said  Jamie  Fleet.  "  It  's  a  bad  business.  I 
would  n't  forget  that.  It 's  awfully  nice  of 
you  to  let  up  on  Trouncey.  But  I  don't 
see  how  you  could  have  done  less ;  do  you, 
Don?" 

"  No,"  said  Don  mournfully.  "  I  'm  a 
gentleman  and  a  man  of  honor.  I  had  to 
let  up  on  Trouncey." 

"  I  guess  they  '11  be  easy  on  you,"  urged 
Jamie  hopefully.  It  was  impossible  for 
him  to  scold  Don.  In  his  heart  he  felt  that 
he  would  be  expelled  himself,  if  he  could 
save  his  chum ;  he  had  a  passionate  sort  of 
unselfish,  almost  feminine  adoration  for  the 
gayer,  more  brilliant,  more  polished  boy, 
who  had  all  the  qualities  that  he  himself 
lacked,  and  who,  it  must  be  owned,  lacked 
the  best  of  the  qualities  possessed  by  the 
shy,  scholarly,  silent  fellow  who  "  studied 
for  rank"  and  got  it.  But  he  did  not  tell 
Don  his  little,  yearning,  sensitive  feeling 
about  wanting  to  bear  the  punishment  for 
him.  Jamie  hid  it  in  his  heart.  Boys  don't 
say  such  things.  It  would  have  embarrassed 
them  both.  He  only  turned  his  soft,  dark 


78  DONALD   MARCY. 

eyes,  burning  like  a  lamp  behind  a  delicate 
shade,  mutely  upon  his  chum,  and  patted 
him  upon  the  shoulder  once  or  twice,  and 
said,  "  Those  fish-balls  at  breakfast  must 
have  been  made  of  sculpins,"  and  changed 
the  subject  —  to  the  landlady's  daughter. 

In  the  course  of  the  week,  Donald's  sus 
pense  came  to  an  official  end.  The  Pres 
ident  sent  for  him  to  come  to  the  ell  study, 
and  there  he  was  examined  by  Mr.  Middle- 
ton. 

Don  told  a  straight,  true  story,  excusing 
nothing,  and  accusing  nobody,  withholding 
all  names  but  his  own,  of  course,  as  in  col 
lege  honor  bound,  but  otherwise  giving  the 
history  of  the  hazing  scrape  simply,  honestly, 
and  gloomily.  He  was  very  unhappy.  He 
was  prepared  for  the  worst,  and  had  writ 
ten  to  his  father  to  expect  it. 

"  The  faculty  will  hold  another  meeting 
to-night,"  observed  the  President,  when  the 
hearing  was  over.  He  said  nothing  more. 
He  and  the  tutor  exchanged  grave  and  in 
scrutable  looks.  Don  felt  that  all  hope  for 
him  was  over.  He  had  a  sort  of  scorn  of 
pleading  his  own  case.  He  asked  no  favor 
or  clemency  from  the  authorities,  but  sadly 
and  silently  bowed  himself  out  of  the  study, 


THE  FACULTY'S  VIEW  OF  IT.  79 

and  went  to  his  room  by  back  streets,  avoid 
ing  all  the  fellows. 

The  next  morning  he  received  the  offi 
cial  verdict  of  the  faculty  :  "  Not  ex 
pelled.  Suspended,  and  rusticated  for  two 
months" 

This  was  so  much  better  than  was  to  be 
feared  that  Don  was  generally  congratu 
lated  by  the  fellows.  His  class  proposed  to 
treat  him  to  a  canvas-back  duck  supper, 
which  he  declined,  on  the  ground  that  he 
preferred  roast  peacock ;  and  the  hazing 
party  came  to  his  room  and  gave  his  health 
in  cider  and  peanuts  ;  which  he  accepted, 
at  the  cost  of  a  headache. 

Now  the  line  of  demarcation  between 
headache  and  heartache  is  always  extremely 
vague  ;  and  in  this  case  it  was  hard  to  find 
title-deeds  for  the  boundaries.  Don  was  mis 
erable  in  soul.  Don  was  uncomfortable  in 
body.  He  did  not  know  which  was  the 
other.  Life  took  on  one  of  those  fogs  of 
heavy  coloring  which  made  it  seem,  for  the 
time,  unworthy  of  the  attention  of  a  very 
young  person.  Donald  felt  that  his  career 
was  ended.  He  told  Jamie  Fleet  that  no 
thing  remained  for  him  to  live  for. 


80  DONALD   MARCY. 

"  There  's  one  thing  ;  you  've  forgotten  it, 
may  be,"  said  Jamie  Fleet. 

"  Some  fellows  have  homes  —  yes,"  replied 
Don  moodily.  "  Mine  bores  me.  Father 's 
off  —  at  Wall  Street.  He  's  as  much  ab 
sorbed  as  a  fellow  in  love,  don't  you  know, 
—  does  n't  notice,  and  that.  Mother 's  shut 
up  with  her  nurse  and  her  doctor.  I  'm 
noisy.  I  plague  the  life  out  of  her." 

"  I  thought  you  had  a  nice  home,  when  I 
went  there,"  suggested  Jamie,  whose  imagi 
nation  or  tact  failed  him  a  little  just  here  ; 
it  was  not  easy  for  the  struggling  lad,  reared 
in  privations  of  which  Donald  had  no  intel 
lectual  comprehension,  to  estimate  the  value 
of  mere  luxury. 

"  Oh,  there  are  things  enough  at  our 
house,"  said  Don  nonchalantly ;  "  but 't  is  n't 
things  that  make  a  home." 

"  I  was  n't  thinking  of  houses,  though," 
added  his  chum. 

"What,  then?"  demanded  Don,  rather 
shortly,  for  him.  "  Let  on." 

"  Oh,  never  mind,"  answered  Jamie, 
shrinking,  a  little  hurt.  "  Only  a  notion 
I  had  about  people  recovering  themselves. 
Seemed  to  me  there  was  something  in  it,  — 
but  it  does  n't  matter.  Pluck  up,  Don,  — 


THE  FACULTY'S   VIEW   OF  IT.  81 

do  !  I  'm  off,  now,  to  my  old  gentleman. 
I  '11  see  you  later." 

Jamie  Fleet  was  working  his  own  way 
through  college  as  best  he  might.  What 
ever  came  up  he  managed  to  do  ;  he  tutored 
a  Frenchman,  or  took  care  of  a  professor's 
horse,  or  "ran"  a  landlady's  furnace,  with 
equal  simplicity  and  fidelity.  It  never  oc 
curred  to  the  minister's  boy  that  he  was 
less  of  a  gentleman  for  doing  all  sorts  of 
straight,  sturdy,  manly  work.  It  was  char 
acteristic  of  the  American  college  that  he 
was  seldom,  if  ever,  made  to  feel  uncomfort 
able  for  this  cause  by  the  more  fortunate 
fellows.  Just  then  he  was  reading  the  even 
ing  paper  to  a  rich,  old  man  up  town.  So 
he  went  away  to  his  client,  and  Don  and 
his  gloom  were  left  together. 

There  is  a  point  where  depression  turns 
into  desperation  so  easily  that  one  must  be 
older  than  the  college  boy  to  anticipate  it ; 
and  Don,  before  he  knew  it,  was  seized  with 
one  of  those  fits  of  immature  recklessness 
which  have  about  the  same  relation  to  real 
despair  that  the  chicken-pox  has  to  the 
small-pox. 

It  occurred  to  him  that  his  future  was 
blasted,  that  his  misery  was  complete,  and 


82  DONALD  MARCY. 

that  he  must  be  amused  directly,  on  peril  of 
his  reason,  or  something  of  that  kind,  —  he 
was  not  clear  what.  He  only  had  the  wild, 
young  impulse  to  hide  thought  in  distrac 
tion,  and  so  plunged  in. 

Feminine  distraction  seemed  to  be  the 
natural  thing.  He  did  not  care  for  the  fel 
lows  in  his  discomfort  and  disgrace.  For 
similar  reasons,  he  did  not  feel  like  seeing 
any  of  what  are  called  "  very  nice  girls." 
He  knew  girls  of  various  kinds.  Don  usu 
ally  had  invitations  enough  to  spoil  any 
young  man  who  was  less  accustomed  to 
them.  There  were  several  cards  on  his  table 
that  night,  and  he  looked  them  over  after 
Jamie  had  gone. 

"  Here  !  "  he  said  aloud  ;  "  there 's  a  dance 
at  Merry  Gorond's.  Just  the  thing.  I  '11  go. 
No  Prof's  daughter  for  me  this  night !  " 


CHAPTER   IX. 

MERRY   GOROND. 

Miss  MERRY  GOROND  assuredly  was  no 
Professor's  daughter.  If  a  social  critic  had 
observed  that  she  belonged  to  the  "gay  set," 
Miss  Gorond  could  hardly  have  brought  a 
case  of  slander  against  him.  Neither  would 
she  have  cared  to ;  the  term  would  not  have 
troubled  her  ;  perhaps,  indeed,  she  took  a 
certain  pride  in  it ;  such  girls  do. 

Merry  Gorond  welcomed  Marcy  with  ex 
pressive  hospitality  at  her  little  dance,  that 
night. 

Her  mother's  parlors  were  full  of  young 
people ;  but  Mrs.  Gorond  was  not  visible. 
Miss  Merry  said  she  had  a  headache,  and 
added :  "  What  's  the  odds  ?  Better  time 
without  old  folks,  don't  we,  Marcy?  So 
glad  to  see  you  !  Have  n't  seen  you  at  a 
hop  for  a  perfect  age.  How  low  you  look  ! 
You  need  something  lively.  I  '11  put  you 
clown  for  a  waltz  and  two  polkas,  directly. 
Won't  that  chirk  you  up  ?  " 


84  DONALD   MARCY. 

"  I  am  honored,  I  'm  sure."  Donald,  a 
graceful  fellow  in  his  evening  suit,  bowed 
low,  but  looked  at  Miss  Gorond  with  eyes 
that  did  not  smile.  But  his  lips  did.  His 
laugh  rang  out  heavily  if  not  heartily.  He 
had  come  to  have  a  good  time  at  Merry 
Gorond' s  gay  house,  and  he  meant  to  get  it. 
He  was  surprised  that  it  came  so  hard. 

Merry  Gorond  called  herself  a  young 
lady,  and  she  meant  in  a  careless,  good-na 
tured  way,  to  deserve  the  name.  But  she  was 
the  kind  of  girl  whom  a  fellow  smokes  a 
cigarette  with,  or  takes  too  long  drives  with, 
too  late,  alone,  on  dark  nights  ;  the  sort  of 
girl  whose  hand  a  man  would  feel  at  liberty 
to  hold  without  asking ;  and  when  he  had 
got  home  would  wish  he  had  n't. 

Miss  Gorond  was  a  handsome  girl;  a 
very  handsome  girl.  Don  remembered  that 
he  had  forgotten  how  striking  she  was.  She 
was  a  brilliant,  blazing  beauty,  black  of  hair 
and  eye,  solid  of  figure,  large  and  imposing 
at  sight.  On  acquaintance,  she  did  not 
seem  so  imposing ;  dignity  she  had  none  ; 
her  manners  frothed  over  in  that  pert  viva 
city  which  a  certain  kind  of  girl  takes  for 
cleverness.  She  wore  a  red  satin  dress  (a 
scarlet  red),  much  a-glitter  with  white  bead 


MERRY   GOROND.  85 

trimmings.  The  music  went  to  Donald's 
head  like  light  wine ;  there  was  always  good 
music  at  Merry  Gorond's.  He  began  to 
feel  in  better  spirits.  What  a  jolly  place 
it  was  !  Don  was  glad  to  forget  everything 
outside  of  it. 

She  talked  to  him  in  merry  snatches  as 
they  waltzed  :  — 

"  So  sorry  —  Heard  of  your  scrape  — 

Mean  of  the  faculty  —  /  said  it  was 

Oh  !  Do  you  think  that 's  too  tall  a  word  ? 
But  when  a  girl  is  worked  up  —  about  a 
friend  —  Suspended  ?  Why,  you  poor 
fellow!  You  don't  deserve  it.  Handsome, 
gentlemanly  boy  like  you,  —  and  such  a 
dancer  !  So  glad  you  came  straight  here  to 
be  comforted !  I  'II  cheer  you  up,  Marcy ! 
Awfully  good  friends,  ain't  we  ?  Always 
depend  on  Merry  Gorond  !  She  's  your  girl 
every  time  !  Come  into  the  reception- 
room,  —  do.  Let  's  elope  out  of  the  mad 
ding  crowd.  Bring  me  an  ice  and  cham 
pagne,  Don,  that 's  a  good  fellow." 

When  Donald  had  brought  the  ices,  and 
they  had  eaten,  and  cooled,  and  played  with 
the  champagne,  and  chatted  confidentially, 
—  he  was  a  little  troubled  to  find  how  con 
fidential  he  was  becoming  with  Merry  ;  he 


86  DONALD  MARCY. 

did  n't  mean  to ;  he  had  never  confided  in 
Merry,  —  the  young  lady  suggested  another 
glass ;  "  she  had  danced  too  hard,"  she  said. 
So  they  had  another  glass  ;  and  so  they  had 
another.  And  Donald  told  her  all  about 
the  hazing  scrape,  for  she  asked,  and  she 
was  very  much  interested  in  the  affair ;  and 
why  had  he  never  known  she  was  such  a 
sympathetic  girl  ? 

It  was  very  pleasant  to  be  told  that  he  was 
an  abused  fellow ;  that  he  was  the  victim  of 
some  sort  of  jealousy.  Who  could  suspend 
him  for  a  little  college  fun  like  that,  without 
a  motive  ?  Miss  Gorond  was  sure  there  was 
a  motive.  So  mean  of  them ! 

"  And  /  'm  so  sorry  !  "  added  Merry  ten 
derly.  "  I  'm  the  best  friend  you  have,  Don. 
I  'd  do  more  for  you  than  any  other  fellow 
I  know." 

She  turned  her  handsome  face,  uplifted 
like  a  large  flower  ;  her  dark  eyes  swam  with 
something  that  looked  like  tears.  His  own 
head  turned  light  and  strange.  Why  had 
he  never  realized  what  a  wonderful  girl  she 
was? 

Somebody  came  into  the  reception-room 
just  then  and  called  Merry  Gorond  away. 
Don  sat  on,  alone,  for  a  few  minutes.  He  felt 


MERRY   GOROND.  87 

strangely.  What  had  he  done  ?  He  was  not 
in  the  habit  of  kissing  young  ladies.  The 
girls  he  liked  were  well-bred,  and  no  man 
ever  thought  of  taking  a  liberty  with  them. 
His  head  swam.  He  was  giddy  and  be 
wildered. 

"  I  'd  better  go  home,"  thought  Donald, 
in  a  confused  way.  He  glided  out  into  the 
hall,  found  his  hat,  and  got  away  without 
making  his  adieus.  There  was  no  hostess 
but  Merry.  How  could  he  go  up  and  shake 
hands  with  Merry  ?  A  sudden  sick  distaste 
of  her  filled  his  whole  nature. 

He  dashed  out  into  the  cold  night  air,  mis 
erably,  and  got  home  as  fast  as  he  could. 

When  he  reached  his  room,  he  heard 
voices.  Jamie  Fleet  was  talking  to  some 
one,  —  not  one  of  the  fellows.  Don  looked 
in,  reluctant  to  be  seen,  he  felt  so  unlike 
himself. 

His  father  sat  there  before  the  fire,  with 
Jamie. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A    MISERABLE    BOY. 

"WHY,  father!  "  said  Donald,  with  the 
accent  which  expresses  so  much  surprise 
that  it  is  not  easy  to  determine  how  much 
pleasure  it  contains. 

"  Well,  Donald,  I  thought  I  'd  come  on. 
What  have  you  been  up  to  now,  anyhow  ?  I 
thought  it  was  about  time  I  looked  into 
it.  I  've  got  — let  me  see  "  —  Mr.  Marcy 
pulled  out  a  three-hundred-dollar  watch,  at 
which  he  glanced  with  the  nervous  motion  of 
a  man  who  lives  on  a  time  schedule. 

"Time?"  asked  the  English  gentleman 
who  carried  no  watch  ;  "  what  has  a  gentle 
man  to  do  with  time  ?  " 

But  this  was  an  American  capitalist.  "  I 
have  forty-five  minutes  and  a  half,"  said 
Mr.  Marcy  ;  "I  must  get  the  night  express 
home.  I  've  got  the  main  facts  from  Fleet, 
here.  I  have  saved  so  much  time.  Now 
speak  for  yourself,  Donald,  —  no  waste 
words,  sir,  —  and  let  me  understand  how  you 


A  MISERABLE  BOY.  89 

expect  to  get  out  of  this.  I  don't  like  it.  It 
is  n't  what  I  sent  you  to  Harle  for.  It  is  n't 
a  gentlemanly  business,  sir,  and  it  is  n't  busi 
ness,  anyhow  you  fix  it.  It 's  a  bad  invest 
ment.  I  did  n't  send  you  to  college  to  fall 
short  this  way." 

Mr.  Marcy.  was  a  tall  man,  graceful  of 
figure,  and,  excepting  when  under  displea 
sure,  gracious  of  manner.  He  had  an  alert, 
anxious  face,  care  -  beaten  into  premature 
wrinkles ;  he  was  not  an  old  man,  but  his 
hair  was  quite  gray.  He  shook  hands  with 
his  son  while  he  spoke,  glanced  at  him 
keenly,  and  then  stood  off ,  with  his  back  to 
the  fire,  and  his  hands  under  his  coat-tails, 
moodily  looking  about  the  room.  He  had 
the  manner  of  being  already  bored  with  the 
gravity  of  the  case  which  had  brought  him 
away  from  the  stock-market  for  twenty-four 
hours. 

"  You  have  a  nice  sort  of  place  here,"  he 
said  carelessly.  "  Ground-floor  room,  I  see. 
There  's  comfort  in  that.  Some  good  prints  ; 
and  you  've  kept  that  carpet,  have  n't  you  ? 
By  the  bye,  your  mother  wished  to  be  remem 
bered  to  you." 

"How  is  mother?"  asked  Don,  thankful 
for  the  variation  of  topic.  He  sat  down,  not 


90  DONALD  MARCY. 

too  near  his  father,  over  by  the  window, 
which  he  opened  an  inch  or  two.  He  was 
flushed  and  fevered  ;  his  head  blazed  like  a 
light-wood  fire.  He  drew  the  curtain  over 
the  slightly  opened  window,  and  sat  in  the 
draught,  drinking  it  in. 

"  Oh  !  she  's  as  usual,"  answered  his  fa 
ther  lightly.  "  Doctor  there  three  times 
yesterday.  It 's  the  same  old  story.  —  See 
here,  you  won't  let  me  lose  that  train  ?  I  've 
very  important  business  on  hand,  and  must 
be  in  Wall  Street  at  nine  o'clock  to-morrow 
morning  " 

"  Even  if  I  am  expelled  ?  "  laughed  Don, 
trying  to  be  a  little  jocose.  He  felt  the  situ 
ation  to  be  very  awkward.  His  father  had 
never  done  such  a  thing  as  this  before. 

"  If  the  whole  of  Harle  University  were 
expelled ! "  replied  Mr.  Marcy,  with  a 
promptness  which  was  almost  startling.  An 
expression  of  acute,  almost  ferocious  anxiety 
settled  between  his  brows  and  in  his  deep- 
set,  iron-gray  eyes.  For  the  moment  he 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  his  son  and  his 
son's  disgrace. 

"  It 's  bad  enough,"  said  Don  gloomily  ; 
"  but  it  might  be  worse.  They  've  let  me  off 
pretty  well,  considering  that  Calhoun  had 


A   MISERABLE  BOY.  91 

just  a  dickens  of  a  time.  I  did  n't  mean 
any  harm,  father.  I  'm  awfully  sorry  for  the 
whole  affair." 

"  Oh,  of  course  ;  that  goes  without  say 
ing.  Thank  you,  —  yes.  Very  good  cigars, 
Don.  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  don't  use  cigar 
ettes  ;  there  's  opium  in  them.  But,  as  I 
was  saying  to  Fleet,  here,  —  if  you  Ve  got 
to  go  into  rustication,  I  'm  going  to  speak  to 
the  President  about  it.  I  want  you  to  go  to 
Fleet's,  —  Dr.  Fleet's,  —  Jamie's  father.  I 
know  Fleet.  He  won't  starve  you,  and  he  '11 
treat  you  like  a  gentleman ;  he  '11  be  good 
for  you,  anyhow.  Is  n't  it  a  little  cold  here, 
Donald  ?  I  'in  older  than  I  was,  Don.  I 
begin  to  feel  draughts.  It 's  a  sure  sign,  — 
when  a  man  feels  draughts.  Heigh-ho  !  I  'm 
tired  with  the  trip.  Close  car  ;  chilly,  too. 
As  I  was  saying,  —  at  Fleet's.  Vermont  is 
a  deuced  hole,  of  course ;  but  that 's  the 
point,  I  take  it.  It 's  only  a  choice  of  holes 
they  '11  give  you.  Fleet  is  a  good  fellow. 
You  'd  have  done  well,  Donald,  if  you  'd  have 
bespoken  him  for  a  father.  He  'd  have 
taken  more  pains  with  you  than  I  have,  — 
had  more  time,  you  know,  —  not  always  on 
the  go,  —  paid  you  more  attention.  I  'm 
going  to  speak  to  Baxter  about  this ;  I  '11 


92  DONALD   MARCY. 

stop  there  on  my  way  to  the  train,  and  put  it 
through.  You  've  made  a  fool  of  yourself, 
but  it  is  n't  so  bad  as  it  might  be,  Donald. 
You  shall  go  to  Fleet's.  Come  over  here, 
nearer,  and  let  me  look  at  you.  Upon  my 
soul,  you  've  grown  tall  since  I  saw  you.  I 
say,  Donald,  there 's  too  much  champagne 
in  your  breath.  Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

"  Calling  on  a  young  lady,"  replied  Don 
uncomfortably  enough. 

"  A  young  lady  ?  "  repeated  his  father, 
with  a  short,  sarcastic  laugh.  "  The  ladies 
of  a  college  town  did  n't  give  wines  to  the 
students  in  my  day.  I  must  look  into  this, 
sir !  "  At  this  uneasy  moment,  Jamie  Fleet 
quietly  took  his  books  and  slipped  out.  It 
was  too  evident  that  things  had  reached  a 
point  where  father  and  son  must  be  left 
alone. 

When  Jamie  came  back,  he  found  that 
Mr.  Marcy  had  gone. 

Don  was  alone  in  the  room,  sitting  by  the 
table,  his  arm  upon  it,  his  face  hidden  on 
his  elbow.  He  did  not  change  his  position 
when  his  chum  entered.  Fleet  came  and  sat 
down  by  him,  with  that  unfailing,  almost 
feminine  tenderness  which  made  him  so  dear 
to  Don. 


A  MISERABLE  BOY.  93 

"  Well,  Don !  "  lie  said  pleasantly. 

The  wretched  boy  acknowledged  his  pres 
ence  by  a  slight  kick  beneath  the  table ; 
nothing  more  affectionate  or  articulate  fol 
lowed,  but  Jamie  persisted,  with  that  con 
tented  power  to  ignore  rebuff  which  belongs 
to  real  love  alone. 

"  Father  gone  ?     Did  he  get  off  in  time  ?  " 

Donald's  curly  head,  prone  upon  his  fine 
coat-sleeve,  nodded. 

"  Did  you  go  to  the  station  with  him  ?  " 

Don  shook  his  head ;  vigorously  this  time. 
Jamie  perceived  that  this  point  was  painful. 

"  Would  n't  let  you,  would  he  ?  I  thought 
perhaps  not.  He  was  a  good  deal  cut  up." 

"  He  told  me  to  go  to  the  deuce,"  cried 
Don,  suddenly  jerking  his  head  up. 

There  were  traces  of  tears  on  his  flushed 
and  worried  face. 

"  He  told  me  to  go  to  the  deuce,  and  be 
done  with  it.  My  father  never  spoke  like 
that  to  me  before.  He  was  awfully  cut  up, 
J.  !  He  was  mortified.  He  felt  ashamed  of 
me.  He  'd  taken  lots  of  trouble  to  come  on." 

"  Could  n't  you  make  your  father  under 
stand  ?  "  asked  Jamie  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Don  wearily. 
"  He  would  n't  shake  hands  with  me  when 


94  DONALD  MARCY. 

he  went  away.  I  hated  to  see  father  off 
so.  It  went  against  me  awfully.  He  did  n't 
look  well,  J.,  seemed  to  me.  Did  you  no 
tice  ?  I  wish  I  could  go  home  and  see  him 
again.  But  there  's  this  confounded  rusti 
cation  business." 

"  Don't  be  too  down,"  pleaded  Jamie. 

"  Oh,  I  am,"  said  Don,  with  the  cheerful 
ness  of  reviving  expression.  "  I  'm  blue  as 
they  make  'em  !  Why,  J.,  I  was  n't  drunk, 
—  you  know  I  was  n't !  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Jamie  sympathetically. 

"  I  never  got  drunk  in  my  life  !  "  urged 
Don.  "  I  would  n't  be  such  a  flat !  " 

"  Of  course  you  would  n't,"  echoed  Jamie. 
"  But,  Don,  —  you  did  take  something,  you 
know.  It  is  n't  a  good  plan.  It  makes  a 
fellow  misunderstood.  It 's  best  left  alone." 

"  That  's  a  fact !  "  cried  Don.  "  And  so 
is  a  girl  that  will  give  it  to  you  best  left 
alone  !  But  I  won't  lay  the  blame  on  Merry. 
I  never  got  into  such  a  mess.  I  'm  ashamed 
of  it,  too  ;  that 's  the  rub.  If  I  could  play 
aggrieved  innocent,  and  that —  But  it's  no 
use.  I  deserve  it,  and  I  'm  ashamed  of  my 
self.  I  never  was  before,"  added  Don  can 
didly.  "  I  always  thought  I  was  a  pretty 
nice  sort  of  fellow." 


CHAPTER  XL 

RUSTICATED. 

IT  was  a  cold  December  day  in  northerly 
Vermont.  This  is  saying  a  cold  thing. 
Donald  Marcy  was  an  out-of-doors  boy,  used 
to  weather  and  able  to  stand  it,  but  he  had 
never  known  what  cold  was  before.  When 
he  woke  that  morning,  in  the  spare  room  of 
Dr.  Fleet's  parsonage,  and  looked  about  him, 
and  took  in  the  details  that  presented  them 
selves  to  his  shivering  senses,  he  said  :  — 

"  The  —  dickens  !  "  and  took  a  dive  under 
the  bed-clothes,  where  he  buried  his  curly 
head  and  tried  to  collect  his  congealing 
courage.  He  had  been  at  Dr.  Fleet's  some 
weeks  now,  but  there  had  never  been  any 
thing  as  cold  as  this.  The  frost  on  his  win 
dows  lay  as  thick  as  blue- white  plush  ;  the 
paper  shades  stirred  and  crackled  in  the 
wind  that  pierced  the  loose,  old-fashioned 
casements.  The  straw  matting,  covered  here 
and  there  by  home-made  rugs,  looked  glazed 
to  his  eyes,  like  a  thin  sheet  of  ice. 


96  DONALD  MARCY. 

His  breath  froze  in  the  bitter  air  when 
ever  he  dared  to  breathe.  His  pitcher,  which 
he  had  been  in  Vermont  long  enough  to  learn 
to  remove  from  the  wash-stand  by  the  win 
dow  (why  are  wash-stands  always  set  by  win 
dows  in  cold  climates  ?),  stood  upon  the  straw 
matting,  in  full  view,  filled  to  the  brim  with 
ice.  His  fire  was  out.  Beside  the  air-tight 
stove  the  wood-box  stood,  half  full.  He 
filled  that  wood  -  box  himself ;  it  was  ex 
pected  of  him ;  Don  had  never  done  such  a 
thing  in  his  life,  before.  He  was  expected 
to  build  the  fire,  too  ;  there  was  no  "  sweep  " 
at  the  parsonage  ;  one  little  maid-of -all-work 
was  the  only  visible  servant. 

It  was  a  great  surprise  to  Don  that  Mrs. 
Fleet,  who  was  quite  a  lady,  worked  hard  in 
her  own  kitchen,  —  harder,  he  sometimes 
thought,  than  the  very  little  maid  ;  and  that 
the  clergyman  himself  took  care  of  Old  Wil 
liam,  the  horse,  and  carried  the  wood  and 
coal.  Jamie  did  these  things  when  he  was 
at  home.  Don  felt  ashamed  —  the  tough 
fellow  !  —  to  back  out  of  anything  that  J. 
could  do  ;  delicate  J.,  with  his  thin,  studious 
face  and  untrained  muscles.  So,  although 
a  boarder  in  the  minister's  family,  he  had 
adopted  the  fashions  of  it  without  protest. 


RUSTICATED.  97 

Indeed,  he  had  a  distant  suspicion  that  the 
system  of  rustication  sometimes  involved 
little  deviations  of  this  sort  from  the  habits 
of  elegant  young  gentlemen  ;  and  it  pleased 
Don's  plucky  spirit  not  to  exhibit  any  as 
tonishment  or  displeasure.  In  fact,  he  had 
accepted  Vermont  thoroughly ;  and  the  self- 
denials  of  the  parsonage  had  begun  to  be 
come  a  familiar  drama  in  his  gay,  luxurious, 
young  life. 

He  had  found  it  rather  "  slow,"  it  must  be 
owned,  so  far,  in  the  village  of  East  Tipton  ; 
the  parsonage  was  by  all  odds  the  best  part 
of  that  thin  old  town,  which  lay  shivering  at 
the  feet  of  the  awful,  snow-clad  mountains, 
like  a  freezing  creature  overtaken  by  the 
winter,  and  trying  to  warm  its  poor  life  at  a 
heart  of  ice.  East  Tipton  was  a  place  in 
which  nothing  happened.  Even  Jamie  was 
not  coming  home  for  the  holiday  recess. 
Jamie  had  a  chance  to  tutor  his  old  gentle- 

O 

man's  son,  at  two  dollars  an  hour,  through 
vacation  ;  and  a  fellow  must  be  better  off 
than  Jamie  to  throw  away  two  dollars  an 
hour.  He  had  written  home  a  very  manly 
letter  (he  was  terribly  disappointed,  Don 
could  see,  but  he  would  not  show  it),  simply 
saying  that  he  must  stay  in  Harle,  and  that 
he  was  lucky  to  get  the  chance. 


98  DONALD  MARCY. 

Fay  was  coming  home,  it  is  true,  at  the 
holidays  ;  but  Don  had  never  seen  Fay ;  he 
did  not  feel  an  absorbing  interest  in  the  fact. 
He  fancied  her  something  of  a  blue-stocking, 
and  not  at  all  stylish.  Don  knew  a  plenty  of 
what  are  called  society  girls  in  New  York, 
and,  of  course,  all  sorts  in  Harle  ;  but  the 
Professor's  daughters  belonged  to  another 
class,  as  much  so,  in  their  way,  as  Merry 
Gorond  herself  in  hers.  Don  had  never  hap 
pened  to  know  any  college  girls  very  well ; 
he  had  notions  about  them,  as  gay  fellows 
and  good  dancers  are  apt  to.  He  thought 
Fay  Fleet  would  probably  matronize  him, 
and  wear  spectacles,  and  a  "  cloud,"  like  the 
girls  in  East  Tipton  whom  he  met  at  the 
post-office  giggling  over  the  advertising  board 
for  letters  that  they  never  received,  and 
nudging  each  other  when  the  handsome  boy 
asked  for  the  minister's  box. 

Still,  on  the  whole,  Donald  was  not  sorry 
that  the  minister's  daughter  was  coming- 
home  that  day.  It  would  be  some  sort  of 
change.  Don  had  taken  sensibly  to  the  quiet 
life  of  the  parsonage,  but  there  was  no  de 
nying  that  it  was  dull  for  a  lively  lad.  Dr. 
Fleet  put  him  at  once  hard  at  work,  that  he 
might  keep  up  with  his  class.  This  was  new 


RUSTICATED.  99 

business  for  Don  ;  six  hours  a  day  of  close 
study,  rain  or  shine,  gay  or  stupid,  happy 
or  dismal,  and  not  a  scrape,  not  a  freak, 
not  a  frolic,  not  a  fellow  to  break  the  pull ! 
Donald  had  never  done  any  such  studying  as 
that  in  all  his  light,  young  life.  He  was  sur 
prised  to  find  it  really  interesting  at  times. 
Dr.  Fleet  had  a  "  way  "  with  books  which 
was  to  a  lazy  lad  like  the  Vermont  moun 
tain  wind  to  a  case  of  swamp  malaria. 

For  the  rest  of  his  days  Don  will  remem 
ber  that  old  parsonage  study,  with  its  shabby 
carpet  and  well-filled  book-shelves,  the  big 
coal  heater,  noisy  and  black  and  ugly  (but 
so  much  cheaper  than  the  scholar's  luxury  of 
an  open  fire  that  it  was  a  matter  of  course), 
the  faded  shades  and  patched  lounge,  and 
the  great,  hearty  rush  of  sunlight  all  over 
the  rooms  on  bright  days  ;  the  early  student- 
lamp  with  its  green  shade,  when  the  after 
noons  were  dark,  and  the  spare  figure  of 
the  minister  bent  over  all  sorts  of  queer, 
rare  books  in  German,  French,  Old  Eng 
lish,  and  who  knows  what ;  his  refined  face, 
with  a  strong  brow  and  gentle  lips,  like 
Jamie's,  starting  like  a  medallion  from  a 
background  of  dark  velvet,  and,  grown  un 
conscious,  brilliant  and  memorable,  while  he 


100  DONALD   MARCY. 

talked  to  the  careless  lad  of  scholars  and  of 
scholarly  thoughts  and  deeds  and  dreams. 

Don  had  not  been  without  his  own  ideas, 
as  we  have  said,  of  that  other,  graver,  higher 
life  which  some  fellows  went  to  college  for 
from  the  start,  and  which  he  meant  to  stop 
and  take  along  before  he  got  through,  much 
as  he  would  have  reined  in  and  picked  up  a 
friend  on  a  Saturday  afternoon  drive  with 
his  father's  span. 

In  those  long,  lonely  winter  days,  when 
he  and  the  minister  sat  at  their  books  in  the 
pleasant  parsonage  study,  and  a  man  of  self- 
denial,  application,  and  consecration  was 
intimately  revealed  for  the  first  time  to  the 
gay  boy,  strange  thoughts  came  to  his  mind, 
strange  visions  to  his  heart.  Life  looked  to 
him  like  a  puzzle,  of  which  he  had  lost  the 
key,  or,  perhaps,  had  never  had  it.  At  times 
he  wished  for  it  very  much  indeed.  Dreamily 
and  delicately  as  the  light  of  the  winter  day 
came  into  the  study,  and  lay  upon  the  silent 
books,  there  stole  into  the  lad's  soul  the  stir 
ring  of  a  force  which  he  did  not  know  well 
enough  to  recognize,  —  aspiration. 

There  was  something,  too,  about  the  life 
of  that  plain  home  which  amazed  the  boy. 
Sometimes  it  touched  him  deeply. 


RUSTICATED.  101 

Poor  as  the  place  was,  harsh  as  the  condi 
tions  of  their  poverty  looked  to  the  luxury- 
accustomed  fellow,  yet  it  sometimes  seemed 
to  him  as  if  he  had  never  truly  felt  at  home 
before.  Everything  in  that  house,  from  the 
washing-day  breakfast  to  the  threadbare  best 
coat  of  the  preacher ;  from  the  cold  entries 
to  the  cold  mutton,  was  as  foreign  to  its 
guest  as  if  he  had  been  rusticating  in  Zan 
zibar.  But  there  was  something  tolerable 
about  it  all,  nevertheless,  —  nay,  something 
really  pleasant,  if  you  chose  to  think  so. 

Mrs.  Fleet  was  a  quiet  lady,  but  she  was 
the  sweetest-natured  one  in  the  world.  She 
mothered  Don  from  the  first ;  she  petted  him, 
and  chatted  with  him,  and  cooked  little  dishes 
for  him  ;  she  knew,  better  than  the  parson, 
how  such  a  way  of  life  as  theirs  must  strike 
the  son  of  T.  B.  Marcy  ;  she  used  to  visit  in 
New  York  when  she  was  a  young  lady  ;  and 
she  never  fussed  about  little  things,  or  found 
fault  with  Don,  or  nagged  anybody,  or  made 
much  of  matters.  She  accepted  her  peaceful, 
narrow  lot  as  serenely  as  the  book  did  the 
book-shelf,  and  as  sweetly  as  no  one  but  a 
gentle  woman  can  accept  what  is  downright 
hard  to  bear.  Don  wondered  at  her  very 
much,  and  he  came  to  like  her,  and  to  like  to 


102  DONALD  MARCY. 

sit  with  her  evenings,  in  the  half-furnished 
little  parlor ;  such  a  room  as  his  mother 
would  have  refitted  for  her  maid. 

In  fact,  Don  had  adapted  himself  to  his 
life  in  the  parsonage  very  smoothly  and 
good-naturedly  ;  but  Don  was  young,  and 
the  minister  and  his  wife  were  not,  and  the 
rusticated  boy  shook  his  curls  and  sighed  for 
some  other  young  thing,  if  only,  he  said,  "  to 
wink  at." 

Fancy  winking  at  Dr.  Fleet !  And  as  for 
the  little  maid,  —  she  wore  crimping-pins, 
and  bare  elbows,  which  she  burned  against 
the  boiler,  regularly,  every  Monday.  She 
was  the  only  other  young  creature  on  the 
place.  Even  the  cat  was  old ;  and  she  had 
eaten  her  kittens. 

So  it  was  not  without  a  certain  renewed 
interest  in  life  that  Donald  remembered, 
when  he  woke  that  icy  December  morning, 
that  the  daughter  of  the  house  was  expected 
at  the  parsonage  that  night. 

This  reflection  added  insensibly  to  the 
motives  for  getting  up,  which  were  not  so 
strong  as  to  be  beyond  need  of  relays.  It 
occurred  to  Don  that  he  would  cram  a  little 
on  Xenophon  that  morning  ;  he  believed  the 
Smith  girls  were  very  learned ;  she  would 


RUSTICATED.  103 

probably  call  him  out  on  his  Greek  at  once  ; 
and  floor  him,  too.  He  thought  he  would 
take  an  early  start  into  a  liberal  education, 
to  be  prepared  for  the  worst,  and  so  plunged 
out  of  bed.  Plunge  was  the  only  word.  It 
was  like  to  nothing  on  earth  so  much  as  a 
dive  into  a  bath  of  ice-water.  Don  caught 
his  breath  at  the  shock,  and  bravely  attacked 
the  air-tight  stove.  Now  the  minister's  air 
tight  stove  made  a  conscientious  point  of 
refusing  to  burn  whenever  the  thermometer 
went  to  zero  ;  and,  as  the  mercury  registered 
thirty  degrees  below,  that  balmy  morning, 
bathing  and  dressing  became  a  fine  art.  By 
the  time  Don  had  got  his  collar  fastened 
with  fingers  so  numb  that  he  had  to  trust  the 
button  and  the  buttonhole  to  meet  entirely 
on  their  own  responsibility,  and  by  the  time 
he  had  melted  his  frozen  tooth-brush  in  his 
mouth  to  brush  his  teeth  therewith,  the  air 
tight  started  up  merrily.  When  he  got  down 
to  breakfast  it  went  red-hot ;  and  before  he 
had  finished  his  omelette  and  griddle-cakes 
a  smell  of  smoke  drove  the  entire  family  fly 
ing  to  the  guest-room,  where  that  blazing  air 
tight,  with  an  air  of  duty  well  done,  was 
comfortably  setting  fire  to  the  mantelpiece, 
and  had  consumed  a  copy  of  Xenophon  and 
half  a  pile  of  young  ladies'  letters. 


104  DONALD  MARCY. 

These  incidents  were  a  tremendous  agi 
tation  in  East  Tiptoii,  and  Don  got  to  the 
post-office  that  morning  somewhat  excited, 
and  a  little  late. 

It  was  bitingly,  bitterly,  brutally  cold. 
The  enormous  fall  of  snow  made  running 
impossible,  and  walking  an  athlete's  job. 
The  snow-plows  were  not  yet  on  the  ground  ; 
the  snow  was  too  deep.  The  doctor  and  a  man 
who  wanted  him  (for  a  sick  horse)  were  the 
only  men  to  be  seen  on  the  streets  besides 
the  young  collegian.  Not  a  woman  was 
visible. 

Don,  a  fine  figure  in  his  astrachan-trimmed 
ulster  and  long  rubber  boots  and  astrachan 
cap,  from  below  which  his  curls  keeled  up 
with  a  sort  of  defiant  jollity,  tramped  gayly 
through  the  drifts  to  the  office,  a  good  hard 
mile  away.  He  whistled  as  he  went,  and 
sang  scraps  of  college  songs,  all  ending  :  — 

"  Here  's  to  happy  Harle  — 
Drink  her  down!  " 

Many  a  climate-worn,  sorrow-soured  wo 
man,  lank  of  face  and  lean  of  heart,  breathed 
little  spots  in  the  frosted  window,  to  see  the 
stranger  lad  go  by,  and  felt  the  warmer, 
somehow,  for  the  sight.  If  she  were  an 
elderly  woman,  she  wished  she  had  a  boy 


RUSTICATED.  105 

like  that,  to  come  tramping  the  merry  snow 
into  her  entry.  If  she  were  a  young  girl, 
she  breathed  a  bigger  hole  in  the  thick  frost- 
curtain,  and  looked  a  little  longer,  and 
wished  —  who  knows  what  ?  And  where  do 
all  these  pretty  half  -  grown,  half  -  known 
wishes  come  from,  or  go  to,  that  flutter 
across  the  lives  of  denied  young  people  in 
poor  places,  like  visitors  whose  very  names 
they  never  know,  but  who  bring  them  a 
breath  of  some  brighter  world,  as  foreign  as 
France  and  as  far  as  Paradise  ?  And,  on  the 
whole,  are  they  gladder  or  sadder  for  it,  — 
who  can  tell  ? 

Donald,  at  the  post-office,  romped  in  thun 
derously.  The  postmistress,  who  was  the 
lankest,  the  leanest,  the  saddest,  and  the 
sourest  of  all  the  Tipton  ladies,  would  have 
scolded  any  other  man  in  the  county  roundly, 
for  flooding  her  premises  with  half  the  snow 
drift  in  which  Don  stood,  radiant  and  drip 
ping,  taking  off  his  hat  to  her,  and  bending 
before  her  with  a  bow  such  as  was  never 
seen  in  Tipton  before  or  since.  She  only 
smiled  at  Don,  and  asked  him  if  he  would  n't 
sit  awhile  by  her  fire  and  dry  off,  and  told 
him  he  had  a  letter  from  Jamie,  and  one 
from  a -lady  in  Harle,  and  the  minister  had 


106  DONALD   MARCT. 

two  from  New  York,  she  said,  and  besides, 
there  was  a  postal  from  Fay. 

"  She  's  coming  home  to-day,"  observed 
the  postmistress,  as  she  handed  the  mail  out. 
Don  expressed  no  surprise  at  this.  It  was 
always  understood  in  East  Tipton  that  the 
postmasters,  especially  when  they  were  post 
mistresses,  read  the  postal  cards.  Fay  used 
to  write  to  her  father  in  French  when  she 
had  anything  to  say  not  intended  for  the 
public  education.  But  it  was  found  that 
these  cards  were  only  so  much  longer  on  the 
way,  because  the  postmistress  had  to  go 
home  for  her  lexicon. 

"  She  's  coming  by  the  mornin'  accommo 
dation,"  added  the  postmistress.  "  It  must 
be  nigh  due  now." 

"  Great  Scott !  "  cried  Don,  "  there  won't 
be  anybody  to  meet  her.  There  's  a  go  !  " 


CHAPTER   XII. 

FAY. 

HAVING  taken  the  postal  card,  which  he 
thought,  under  the  circumstances,  he  might 
as  well  share  with  the  post-office  department, 
Don  read  it  carefully.  It  ran,  in  a  clear, 
large  hand,  thus  :  — 

DEAR  PAPA  :  I  shall  be  home  Wednesday 
morning,  by  accommodation,  instead  of  night  ex 
press.  Please  have  Old  William  at  the  station 
with  the  wagon.  I  shall  bring  my  trunk.  Love 
to  all.  FAY. 

Old  William,  the  parsonage  horse,  was  so 
very  old,  and  so  very  ecclesiastical,  that  no 
one  had  ever  thought  of  calling  him  Billy, 
nor  even  Old  Billy.  That  would  have  been 
a  liberty  far  beyond  the  dignity  of  that  the 
ological  animal,  who  was  known  the  region 
round,  as  the  postmistress  said,  "  by  his 
Christian  name." 

"  Why,  she  is  due !  "  exclaimed  Don, 
when  he  had  read  the  postal  card  the  second 
time.  "  And  Old  William  has  n't  even  had 


108  DONALD  MARCY. 

his  breakfast.  There  's  a  drift  ten  feet  high 
before  the  barn.  We  've  got  to  dig  him 
out.  Why  —  let  me  see  —  that  train  must 
be  in  !  Don't  I  hear  it  whistle  ?  Her  father 
does  n't  know  she  's  coming  so  early.  I 
guess  I  '11  have  to  go  over  and  meet  her." 

"  What  good  '11  that  dew  ?  "  asked  the 
postmistress.  "  It 's  a  good  three  mile  from 
the  depot  to  her  house.  A  girl  can't  drabble 
herself  up  that  way  with  her  best  gown  on. 
Not  but  what  Fay  could  walk  it ;  she 's 
broughten  up  like  the  rest  of  us  round  here ; 
but  then,  she  can't  afford  to  spile  that  blue 
flannel  of  hern  ;  it 's  new  this  term.  Why 
don't  you  go  over  to  Jarsper's  and  hire  a 
hoss  and  meet  her  ?  She 's  set  out  already, 
-  make  your  mind  on  that.  She  ain't  the 
girl  to  sot  in  a  depot  a-waitin'  for  no  men- 
folks." 

Fortified  by  this  suggestion,  which  seemed 
to  serve  as  a  sort  of  chaperon  to  his  own 
eager  wish  to  do  something  hospitable  in  the 
exigency,  Don  ran  over  to  "  Jarsper's,"  the 
neighboring  stable,  and  quickly  got  out  the 
only  hack  in  town,  —  a  ragged  vehicle  on  run 
ners,  which  swayed  through  the  big  drifts 
like  a  little  sloop-yacht  in  a  nor'easter.  Don 
had  vigorously  helped  Mr.  Jasper  to  har- 


FAY.  109 

ness,  and  he  vociferously  helped  him  to 
drive ;  and  owing  to  these  two  facts  the 
sleigh  came  in  sight  of  the  young  lady  be 
fore  she  had  reached  home.  She  was,  in 
fact,  not  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
the  station  when  The  Hack  met  her  and 
halted  with  great  ceremony.  Mr.  "  Jarsper  " 
felt  this  to  be  an  event  in  his  life.  Fay 
never  rode  in  The  Hack,  not  even  at  Tipton 
funerals.  It  was  always  reserved  (there  be 
ing  but  one)  for  the  chief  mourners. 

Don  leaped  from  the  box  and  stood  be 
fore  the  young  lady,  cap  in  hand,  his  brown 
curls  blowing  madly  in  the  winter  wind,  his 
handsome  face  drawn  to  the  precise  Greek 
expression  which  he  thought  would  be  ex 
pected  of  him  by  the  college  girl.  He  had 
just  stuffed  into  his  pocket  the  letter  from 
Harle.  It  was  from  Merry  Gorond,  who 
often  wrote  to  him,  —  Heaven  knew  why  ! 
Certainly  not  because  she  had  been  in 
vited  to. 

Fay  was  trudging  along  stoutly  enough. 
She  was  a  strong,  well-developed,  eager  girl, 
in  a  blue  flannel  suit,  with  dark  blue  water 
proof  cloak  thrown  over  it,  and  her  skirts 
tucked  up.  They  were  pinned  in  a  little 
bunch  in  front,  and  she  carried  her  leather 


110  DONALD   MARCY. 

hand-bag,  held  over  them  to  keep  them  down. 
She  wore  a  dark  blue  hat  of  felt  with  plain 
velvet  trimmings,  and  a  saucy  little  white 
veil.  There  was  not  so  much  Greek  expres 
sion  about  her  as  Don  had  anticipated.  He 
was  conscious  of  feeling  quite  puzzled  for  a 
moment. 

"  Excuse  me,  Miss  Fleet,"  he  began,  with 
his  best  bow,  "  but  I "  - 

Fay  had  been  walking  with  her  head  bent, 
the  better  to  pick  her  way  through  the  two- 
feet  fall  of  unbroken  snow,  and  when  she  saw 
The  Hack,  and  the  elegant  young  stranger 
perched  thereon  beside  Mr.  "  Jarsper,"  she 
lifted  her  face  and  looked  straight  at  him 
with  a  perfectly  unconscious,  pretty  look  of 
girlish  amazement,  at  once  so  modest  and  so 
straightforward  that  it  was  bewitching. 

"I  don't  know  who  you  are,"  said  the 
young  lady  sedately,  but  her  eyes  —  she 
had  beautiful  eyes  —  twinkled.  She  and 
Don  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment,  and 
then  Don  laughed.  The  young  lady's  lip 
twitched,  then  curved  into  a  merry  smile. 
"Are  you  anybody  in  particular  ?  "  she  ven 
tured. 

"  I  'in  a  rusticated  college  boy  from 
Harle.  I  used  to  be  your  brother's  chum, 


FAY.  Ill 

and  I  'm  now  your  father's  guest.  My  name 
is  Marcy,  at  your  service.  I  came  to  drive 
you  home." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Fay  delightedly.  "  How 
nice  of  you.  I  am  pretty  wet." 

Don  helped  the  girl  into  The  Hack  gal 
lantly,  and,  seating  himself  beside  her,  drew 
the  doors  and  windows  close,  and  ordered 
Mr.  Jasper  to  drive  to  the  parsonage  with 
an  authority  to  which  The  Hack  was  quite 
unused.  Mr.  Jasper  resented  it  by  driving 
as  slowly  as  he  possibly  could  all  the  way, 
which  Don  did  not  mind  in  the  least.  Keally, 
if  the  truth  must  be  told,  the  young  lady  did 
not  herself  seem  oppressed  by  the  length  of 
the  journey. 

They  began  at  once,  and  chattered  like 
two  magpies  all  the  way. 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  get —  Where 
is  Old  William  ? "  began  Fay  at  once. 
"  Father  ought  not  to  have  af— 

She  had  begun  to  remember  the  unprece 
dented  expense  of  The  Hack,  but  checked 
herself  before  the  stranger  lad.  She  felt 
instantly  that  this  fur-clad,  luxurious  fellow 
could  not  understand  her  little  daughterly 
anxiety  about  a  trifle  so  small  to  him,  so 
serious  to  the  minister's  struggling  family. 


112  DONALD   MARCY. 

So  Donald  hastened  to  explain  the  cir 
cumstance  about  the  postal  card,  and  how 
he  happened  to  venture  to  .take  upon  him 
self  the  honor,  etc.,  etc.  ;  and  The  Hack, 
if  she  would  allow  him,  was  his  own  affair. 
He  had  got  to  have  it,  Don  said,  to  get 
home  himself  ;  he  was,  in  fact,  very  wet,  and 
had  had  enough  of  it. 

"  You  did  n't  catch  me  walking  home  this 
morning,"  explained  Don  boldly,  "  and  it 
was  awfully  jolly  it  happened  so.  I  only 
had  to  turn  about  and  get  you.  Are  n't 
you  awfully  wet  ?  " 

Fay  gave  him  a  little,  dark,  grateful  look  ; 
her  face  flushed  slightly  ;  she  did  not  pursue 
the  subject  of  The  Hack.  For  a  moment 
she  did  not  talk  of  anything ;  and  then  she 
said  abruptly  :  — 

"  Yes.     Soaked.     I  've  only  got  rubbers 
and  gaiters.     My  rubber  boots  are  at  home. 
But    I  don't  mind.     I    shall    change    themk 
when  I  get  home.     A  little  drenching  never 
hurts  me.     /can  stand  it." 

"  The  mischief  you  can  !  "  retorted  Don. 
"  You  've  caught  me  there." 

The  two  young  things  looked  at  each  other 
with  eyes  full  of  pretty  defiance,  and  then 
both  broke  into  a  merry  laugh. 


FAY.  113 

"  I  thought  you  'd  begin  to  talk  about 
the  Anabasis  directly,"  said  Don  confiden 
tially. 

"  And  I  never  thought  about  you  at  all," 
said  Fay  saucily. 

"  I  'm  awfully  glad  you  've  come,"  pur 
sued  Don  nonchalantly,  waiving  this  thrust. 
"  With  your  permission,  I  '11  make  you  think 
about  me  now  you  've  got  here." 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  to  do,"  urged  Fay. 
"  I  brought  three  novels  and  a  new  nocturne 
home,  and  a  new  dress  to  make." 

44 1  '11  help,"  persisted  Don.  "  I  'm  a  first- 
rate  dressmaker." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Fay.  "  Do  you  fit  well  ? 
Can  you  make  a  fifty-cent  serge  look  like  a 
dollar-and-a-half  drap  d'ete  ?  Do  you  think 
you  could  if  you  had  to  ?" 

"  Here  's  your  pa,"  called  Mr.  Jasper, 
hammering  on  the  front  glass  with  the  butt 
end  of  his  whip.  "  The  minister  's  comin' 
to  meet  The  Hack." 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

FRIENDSHIP    ON    A    TOBOGGAN. 

LIFE  at  the  parsonage  in  East  Tipton  now 
turned  over  a  fairy  leaf.  New  heavens  and 
a  new. earth  opened  forthwith  for  the  rusti 
cated  boy.  Who  would  have  believed  that 
one  little  girl  could  so  quickly  and  quietly 
revolutionize  a  family,  a  house,  a  heart  ? 

Fay  had  not  been  at  home  a  day  before 
that  entire  home  took  on,  like  a  holiday  rib 
bon,  the  color  of  the  bright,  strong  individu 
ality  belonging  to  the  daughter  of  the  house. 
Her  mother  smiled,  and  dressed  and  rested. 
Fay  was  here. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  I  am  a  little  tired ;  but 
don't  begin  to  do  the  dishes  too  soon.  Get 
over  your  journey  first." 

Her  father  stayed  out  of  his  study  two 
hours  after  dinner.  Fay  had  come.  He  sat 
in  his  dressing-gown,  laughing  at  college 
stories. 

"  Your  girls'  stories,"  he  said,  "  with  the 
fun,  and  without  the  devil." 


FRIENDSHIP    ON  A    TOBOGGAN.         115 

The  little  kitchen-maid  took  her  hair  out 
of  her  crimping-pins  before  dinner,  and  drew 
her  sleeve  over  her  burned  elbow,  and  wildly 
put  on  a  white  apron,  and  tripped  over  the 
soup  tureen  and  sat  down  hard  on  the 
pieces.  Miss  Fay  was  home.  The  cannibal 
cat,  who  had  eaten  her  kittens,  came  in  with 
an  air  of  high  moral  virtue,  and  mounted 
solemnly  to  Fay's  lap  to  be  chucked  under 
the  chin,  —  a  liberty  which  she  allowed  to  no 
one  but  Fay.  Old  William,  when  the  ten- 
feet  drift  was  cut  through,  walked  rheu- 
matically  out  of  the  barn  and  limped  to  the 
kitchen  window  for  sugar  when  he  heard 
Fay's  voice.  Even  the  dinner  -  table  went 
mad  for  Fay's  sake,  and  struck  out  into 
Christmas  epicureanism  before  its  time. 
They  had  turkey  and  cranberry  sauce,  and 
the  white  potato  was  strained  through  a  col 
ander,  and  there  were  nuts  and  raisins  after 
the  pumpkin  pies  ;  and  the  little  maid 
brought  coffee,  and  spilled  it  and  scalded 
the  cat  with  it,  and  told  her  it  was  good 
enough  for  her ;  she  wished  she  'd  "  mur- 
thered"  her.  And  it  was  a  very  exciting- 
occasion. 

As  for  Donald,  in  one  hour  he  did  not 
understand  how  he  had  ever  lived  in  East 


116  DONALD   MARCY. 

Tipton  without  Fay,  and  not  "  struck  "  for 
his  reason  and  his  life. 

Fay  was  a  healthy,  happy,  rousing,  sing 
ing,  sensible  girl.  She  laughed  whenever 
she  thought  of  it,  and  she  thought  of  it  very 
often.  She  ran  up  and  down  stairs,  I  can't 
say  like  a  fawn,  for  she  was  a  solid  girl,  but 
like  a  sracef  ul  collie  that  finds  it  work  to 

O 

keep  still  and  play  to  keep  going.  She 
bounded  in  and  out  and  flashed  to  and  fro 
across  those  plain,  poor  parsonage  rooms 
like  the  prisms  in  the  rainbow-glass  that  she 
had  brought  home  for  a  holiday  present  for 
her  mother.  And  who  ever  knew  that  Fay 
went  without  silk  mittens,  such  as  the  other 
girls  had,  and  wore  a  cheap  pair  of  woolen 
ones  all  winter,  to  get  that  prism  ?  "  Poor 
mother  had  so  few  pretty  colors  in  her  life ! " 
Fay  said.  And  to  Donald  she  added,  in  the 
pleasant,  instinctive  confidence  which  grows 
so  quickly  between  two  young  people  who 
like  each  other  from  the  start :  — 

"  I  thought  it  would  be  nice  to  see  some- 

O 

thing  dance  in  this  house,  if  it 's  only  a  rain 
bow  ;  don't  you  ?  See  them  !  Are  n't  they 
dear,  —  waltzing  all  over  that  ugly  wall-pa 
per,  and  polkaing  across  mamma's  cap- 
strings?  And  just  look,  —  one  is  perform- 


FRIENDSHIP  ON  A  TOBOGGAN.    117 

ing  a  pas  seul  on.  papa's  nose  !  It 's  a  blue 
one,  too ;  a  regular  last-act,  blue-devil  color. 
But  he  would  n't  recognize  it.  He  never 
e;oes  to  the  play." 

O  JL        t7 

"Do  you?"  asked  Don. 

"  I  like  to,"  she  said  quickly.  "  But  I 
don't  go  unless  he  says  I  may.  Besides,  I 
can't  afford  it,  you  know.  But  I  went  a  few 
times  Freshman  year.  I  was  visiting  a  chum 
of  mine  in  New  York." 

"  What  are  you  now  ?  "  asked  Don  anx 
iously.  "  A  Senior  ?  " 

"  Only  a  Junior,"  nodded  Fay.  "  I  'm 
only  a  year  ahead  of  you.  I  should  be  a 
Senior,  but  I  had  to  stay  out  a  year." 

"Dropped?"  asked  Don. 

"  Do  I  look  like  it?  "  returned  Fay,  turn 
ing  sharply  about  and  facing  the  mischief  in 
his  eyes.  She  stood  straight  and  still  before 
him  ;  a  fine  figure  of  a  girl,  with  a  face  hand 
some  this  minute,  plain  the  next,  winning 
now,  rebuffing  then,  melting  with  innocent 
coquetry  while  you  looked  at  her,  and  with 
drawn  into  delicate  dignity  before  you  could 
speak  to  her  ;  a  creature  full  of  the  whims 
of  youth  and  the  second  thought  of  matu 
rity  ;  bubbling  with  fun  and  controlled  with 
resolve  ;  a  girl  made  up  of  mischief  and 


118  DONALD   MARCY. 

good  sense,  of  frolic  and  modesty  ;  a  gym 
nast  and  a  musician,  a  dancer  and  a  mathe 
matician,  a  romp  and  a  scholar,  —  that  was 
Fay. 

"  You  look,"  said  Don,  with  a  low  bow, 
"  as  if  the  faculty  of  Smith  might  have  had 
their  hands  full  with  you  "  — 

Fay's  delicate  eyebrows  arched  disdain 
fully. 

"But  did  n't,"  finished  Don.  "They 
didn't.  You  thought  you  would  n't.  I  'm 
afraid  you  Ve  been  the  other  kind  of  girl. 
I  'm  afraid  you  've  learned  your  lessons  and 
stood  well,  and  all  that." 

"And  why,  sir,  do  you  suffer  from  fear 
on  this  account  ?  " 

"  Because  /  have  n't,"  said  Don  ruefully. 
"  I  see  you  're  a  scholar.  It  runs  in  your 
family.  I  'm  not.  I  'm  rusticated  for  a  haz 
ing  scrape." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Fay,  lifting  her  black 
eyes  with  the  innocence  of  a  baby.  "  Are 
you  stupid  ?  " 

Don  flushed  ;  he  certainly  did  ;  when  had 
a  girl's  tongue  made  Don  blush  before  ? 

"  I  'm  sorry  for  you,"  pursued  Fay 
blandly.  "  It  must  be  very  uncomfortable. 
I  've  always  thought  that  would  be  the  hard- 


FRIENDSHIP  ON  A  TOBOGGAN.    119 

est  thing,  —  not  to  be  clever  ;  not  to  be  able 
to  learn  things,  like  other  people." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  'm  a  born  fool!  " 
exploded  Don  viciously. 

"  Oh  !  are  n't  you  ?  Did  n't  you  mean 
that  ?  I  'm  so  relieved !  I  thought  —  I  sup 
posed  —  I  did  n't  know  but  you  meant  — 
Then  why  in  the  world,"  demanded  Fay  vig 
orously,  "  don't  you  learn  your  lessons  ? 
Why  on  earth  do  you  act  like  one  ?  " 

"  One  what  ?  " 

"  It  was  your  own  word,  sir  !  Don't  make 
me  use  it.  Don't  compel  me  to  be  rude. 
I  don't  like  those  pert  girls.  I  don't  think 
it  's  good  manners  to  be  vicious,  do  you  ? 
I  'in  afraid  I  've  gone  too  far.  Have  I  been 
impolite  ?  I  did  n't  mean  to  be.  Shall  I 
beg  your  pardon?  " 

Fay's  voice  melted  into  such  gentleness 
when  she  said  this,  that  Don's  smarting 
vanity  went  under,  and  he  bowed  before 
her. 

He  thought  her  adorable,  and  he  thought 
he  would  tell  her  so  ;  but  something  in  Fay's 
fine,  far  eyes  checked  him.  She  was  n't  the 
girl  one  could  make  love  to  at  two  days'  ac 
quaintance.  The  expression  of  Don's  face 
changed  as  gently  almost  as  her  own. 


120  DONALD   MARCY, 

"  No,"  he  said  humbly,  "  don't  beg  my 
pardon.  I  deserved  it.  I  'm  a  harum-scarum 
chap.  But  I  'm  not  a  bad  fellow,  Miss  Fay," 
he  added  earnestly.  He  began  to  feel  that 
he  wished  very  much  to  stand  well  with  Fay, 
in  her  modest,  womanly  thoughts  of  him ; 
he  could  not  bear  it  that  she  should  believe 
him  worse  than  he  was. 

"  Oh,  I  know  that !  "  said  Fay  eagerly. 
"I  '11  tell  you,"  she  hurried  on,  for  her  tact 
told  her  that  she  had  gone  far  enough  into  a 
painful  subject,  —  "I  '11  tell  you  why  I  was 
out  for  a  year.  I  'm  not  ashamed  of  it.  I 
had  to  earn  my  way  that  year.  Jamie  was 
sick,  and  needed  every  cent.  So  I  took  my 
turn.  That  was  all  right.  You  see  "  —  the 
girl  hesitated,  looking  timidly  at  the  young 
stranger,  so  soon  a  friend  —  "they  do  have  a 
hard  time  of  it  here,  poor  dears,  —  two  of  us 
in  college  at  once.  That  's  the  worst  of  it. 
But  it  won't  last  long.  Then  I  shall  teach, 
and  send  them  —  O-ooh  !  "  cried  Fay,  as 
girlishly  as  if  she  had  never  been  to  college. 
"  I  lie  awake  nights  thinking  of  the  things 
I  'm  going  to  send  them.  I  've  made  out 
a  list.  It  's  four  pages  and  a  half  long  al 
ready  !  " 

"  What   did  you  do,"    asked    Don,    with 


FRIENDSHIP   ON  A   TOBOGGAN.         121 

unwonted  seriousness,  "  to  earn  money  ?  / 
never  earned  more  than  fifty  dollars  in  my 
life.  Father  gave  me  that  once  for  knock 
ing  off  cigarettes." 

"  Oh,  I  taught  music,"  said  Fay  care 
lessly  ;  "  I  'm  not  a  player,  but  I  'm  accurate, 
and  I  can  get  classes.  I  learned  pretty 
thoroughly  what  I  do  know.  Then  some 
times  I  take  a  school  for  a  term.  That 
helps.  I  don't  mind  hard  work,  I  think," 
urged  Fay  meditatively ;  "  I  like  it.  Don't 
you?" 

"  I  begin  to  think  I  might  be  made  to," 
replied  Don  forlornly,  "if  I  took  a  few 
quarters'  lessons  in  How  to  Do  It  from  a 
girl  like  you." 

Fay  looked  at  him  ;  she  looked  at  him 
very  soberly  indeed,  but  so  charmingly  that 
Don  hoped  she  would  say  something  half  as 
sweet  as  her  look.  But  Fay  said  nothing 
at  all. 

Fay  never  "  preached  "  to  him,  from  first 
to  last.  But  from  the  beginning  until  the 
end  she  gave  the  boy  something  better  than 
advice,  and  rebuke,  and  retort. 

She  flashed  over  the  panorama  of  his 
young  life  the  ideal  of  a  strong,  sweet  girl, 
educated  and  womanly,  intellectual  and  ten- 


122  DONALD   MARCY. 

der,  and  true,  true  to  the  last  drop  of  her 
heart's  blood.  Fay  Fleet  had  her  faults,  but 
she  never  posed,  she  never  tricked,  she  did 
not  manage.  No  young  man  could  say  that 
Fay  flirted,  even  when  there  was  nothing  else 
to  do.  It  was  almost  as  hard  to  say  whether 
she  liked  a  fellow,  or  not,  very  much,  —  that 
is,  whether  one  were  important  to  her  in  any 
way.  Don  could  not  tell  for  the  life  of  him. 
Girls  had  always  liked  Don  quite  easily 
enough.  Without  undue  emphasis  of  the 
fact,  the  handsome  boy  had  always  had  rea 
son  to  suppose  that  a  girl's  interest  was  a 
thing  to  be  lightly  won,  or  indeed,  that  need 
not  be  won  at  all ;  it  came  as  a  matter  of 
course.  With  Fay  it  was  quite  different, 
but  he  could  not  have  told  why,  though  he 
speculated  upon  it  a  great  deal. 

When  Fay  had  been  at  home  a  week,  he 
said  to  himself,  one  day  :  — 

"  I  've  got  it.  It 's  because  she  has  some 
thing  else  than  fellows  to  think  about." 

"You  care,"  he  said  to  her,  "you  really 
do  care  for  what  you  are  up  to,  —  college  and 
all  that.  It  gives  you  thoughts.  It  takes 
your  time." 

"  I  want  to  be  something,"  said  Fay 
dreamily.  "  That 's  all  I  know  about  it.  I 
am  always  very  busy." 


FRIENDSHIP  ON  A  TOBOGGAN.    123 

"  You  are  something,"  replied  Don,  in  a 
low  tone.  "  That 's  the  point  of  it.  You  're 
the  nicest,  the  —  the  —  loveliest  —  Miss 
Fay,  you  are  the  best  girl  I  ever  knew! 
Don't  be  mad  at  me,"  pleaded  Don,  when 
he  saw  her  pretty  blush.  "  I  mean  it  all 
right.  I  don't  mean  to  be  silly.  I  've 
known  most  kinds.  If  you  'd  seen  some  of 
the  kinds  I  have  known  —  I  wish,"  he 
urged,  with  a  sort  of  eager  earnestness  so 
new  to  Don  Marcy  that  it  seemed  to  soften 
and  envelop  him  in  a  beautiful,  gentle  color, 
as  the  blush  did  the  little  woman,  —  "  I  wish 
I  could  be  a  different  kind  of  fellow,  —  the 
kind — well,  your  kind,"  he  explained  can 
didly,  turning  to  look  straight  at  her. 

"  Do  you  really  ?  "  asked  Fay  softly. 

"  I  'm  very  unhappy,"  replied  Don  ;  "I 
never  said  so  before.  I  'm  not  satisfied  with 
the  way  I  'm  going  on.  I  wish  I  were  the 
other  kind  of  boy." 

"  Then  be  the  other  kind  !  "  cried  Fay,  in 
her  rich,  ringing  voice. 

They  were  going  out  tobogganing,  when 
this  conversation  occurred.  Don,  who  was 
used  to  satisfy  every  whim  that  money  could 
supply,  took  the  toboggan  fever  when  the 
heavy  snow  packed  down  upon  the  mountain- 


124  DONALD  MARCT. 

sides,  and  if  there  were  no  toboggan  in  the 
village,  why  not  send  to  New  York  for  one  ? 
So  he  sent  to  New  York  for  the  toboggan. 
This  was  the  first  time  that  he  and  Fay  had 
gone  together  for  a  long  slide  ;  he  had  ex 
perimented  by  himself  upon  his  new-bought 
toy,  to  make  sure  of  its  safety  and  his  own 
skill,  and  so  on,  before  he  trusted  Fay  upon 
it.  But  now  they  were  well  on  their  way 
across  the  wide,  snow-blind  fields,  to  give 
the  Vermont  girl  her  first  toboggan  slide  ; 
they  both  wore  snow  -  shoes  (for  the  snow 
"  slumped  "  occasionally,  and  was  very  deep), 
and  Fay  had  extemporized  some  sort  of  a 
costume  for  the  occasion ;  she  could  not  af 
ford  a  toboggan-suit,  of  course,  but  she  had 
constructed  something  out  of  her  gymnasium 
suit  and  an  old  red  blanket,  in  which,  with 
a  red  flannel  cap  and  cheap  red  mittens,  she 
was  altogether  charming.  Her  cheeks  were 
flushed  with  the  fine  exercise,  and  her  black 
eyes  and  hair  seemed  to  snap,  electrically,  in 
the  frosty  sunshine.  When  she  said,  "Be 
the  other  kind ! "  she  turned  her  bright, 
round  face  up  to  Don  in  a  way  peculiar  to 
herself.  Some  girls  make  that  feminine 
motion  of  the  head  —  everybody  knows  it  — 
with  a  kind  of  helplessness,  a  leaning  toward 


FRIENDSHIP   ON  A    TOBOGGAN.         125 

a  young  man,  a  clinging  to  him,  as  if  the 
whole  nature  fell,  a  pretty  burden,  upon  his 
own,  for  support,  protection,  and  caressing 
care.  This  is  sometimes  interesting  to  a  boy 
for  a  moment's  play.  It  becomes  tiresome, 
girls,  believe  me,  to  a  man,  for  a  life's  work. 
Fay  had  an  attitude  of  stirring  and  yet  of 
gentle  independence  and  strength  of  her  own, 
which  Don  found  delightful.  She  looked 
like  the  very  soul  and  sense  of  the  whole 
some,  heartsome  winter  day.  All  the  best  of 
the  gay  boy's  nature  sprang  gravely  to  meet 
the  effect  which  she  had  upon  him. 

"  Will  you  be  my  friend,  —  true  blue,  — 
my  faithful  friend,  if  /  turn  out  the  other 
kind  ?  "  he  asked  her  very  soberly. 

Fay  hesitated. 

"  If  I  say  I  will,  I  shall,  you  know,"  she 
said, with  a  little,  serious  nod.  "I  never  said 
that  —  before  —  to  anybody,  —  to  any  boy,  I 
mean  !  " 

"  But  you  '11  say  it  to  me  ? r>  pleaded 
handsome  Don.  "  I  never  asked  it  before, 
either.  I  've  done  my  share  of  flirting,  and 
carrying  on,  I  dare  say.  But  I  never  wanted 
a  girl  to  be  my  friend  before." 

"  It 's  a  solemn  sort  of  word,"  said  Fay,  in 
a  low  voice. 


126  DONALD   MARCY. 

"  We  're  agreed  on  that,"  replied  Donald 
proudly.  "  I  have  n't  wasted  it,  nor  blas 
phemed  it,  you  know ;  I  never  felt  like  sling 
ing  it  round  on  lots  of  people." 

"  That  goes  a  good  way,  with  me,"  said 
Fay. 

"I  mean,"  pursued  Don,  with  an  argu 
mentative  and  original  air,  as  if  he  were  the 
first  boy  who  had  ever  talked  friendship  to  a 
girl  in  all  the  history  of  the  old,  dear,  fool 
ish  world,  "  I  want  you  to  help  me,  to  stand 
by  me,  to  keep  step  with  me,  you  know,  as 
we  do  this  minute ;  good,  strong,  long  steps ; 
and  stimulate  me,  and  make  me  think  of  dif 
ferent  things,  and  make  a  better  fellow  of 
me,  —  in  earnest,  Miss  Fay.  I  want  it  very 
much  indeed." 

"  You  won't  let  me  be  ashamed  of  you," 
suggested  Fay  gently,  "  if  I  do  that  ?  " 

"  There  's  my  hand  on  it,"  said  Don.  He 
looked  at  her  eagerly.  Aspiration,  born  in 
his  soul  in  that  simple,  studious  country 
home,  had  lain  a  helpless,  half -formed  thing, 
waiting  for  the  strong  touch  of  resolve  to 
nurse  it  into  manly  life.  The  girl  had  given 
the  touch  ;  delicate  and  firm,  and  womanly 
as  herself. 

She  held  out  her  red  mitten.    Don  took  it 


FRIENDSHIP   ON  A    TOBOGGAN.         127 

into  his  sealskin  glove.  After  an  instant's 
hesitation  he  removed  his  glove  ;  his  eyes 
deferentially  said  :  May  I  ?  He  drew  off  the 
woolen  mitten,  and  their  hands  clasped. 

Neither  of  them  spoke  for  a  moment. 
Then  Fay  put  on  her  mitten  and  said  :  — 

"  Are  we  going  straight  down  the  side  of 
Mount  Tipton  ?  " 

"  I  '11  go  anywhere  you  take  me  !  "  raptur 
ously. 

"  I  won't  do  anything  so  steep  as  that, 
sir  ! "  demurely. 

"  Is  n't  there  a  little  mountain  anywhere 
we  might  go  down  ?  "  asked  Don.  "  I  don't 
feel  as  if  a  hill  were  big  enough  for  the 
occasion.  How  's  that  one,  over  there  ?  " 

It  was  instinctively  understood  between 
them  that  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  said 
about  friendship  just  now.  They  abandoned 
themselves  to  the  higher  education  of  the 
toboggan,  as  utterly  as  if  they  had  been  ten 
years  old. 

Fay  thought  there  was  a  little  mountain, 
—  "  Small  Tom  "  was  its  name,  —  across  a 
few  more  pastures  and  over  the  creek,  and 
she  thought  there  was  a  pretty  fair  clearing 
down  an  obtuse  angle  over  beyond  those 
pines,  where  it  would  be  safe  enough  to  get 


128  DONALD  MARCY. 

down,  if  he  understood  his  vehicle.  Don 
was  sure  that  he  knew  his  toboggan  inti 
mately  ;  and  they  set  out  to  climb  Small 
Tom  forthwith ;  their  peals  of  laughter 
when  Fay's  feet  went  through  the  snow,  or 
Don  tripped  up,  or  the  toboggan  "  struck," 
echoing  down  the  white  hillside,  with  a  ring 
that  brought  several  of  the  lank,  lean  ma 
trons  in  the  scattering  farmhouses  to  breathe 
on  their  frosted  windows  and  look  through 
at  the  tobogganers.  But  the  farmers'  daugh 
ters  made  quite  big  holes  in  the  frost,  to 
watch  the  young  climbers,  and  one  took  the 
skin  off  from  her  tongue,  and  her  mother 
made  her  gargle  alum  and  water  for  the  rest 
of  the  day. 

Fay  found  a  slide  that  was  to  her  mind  ; 
there  had  been  some  coasting  on  it  a  few 
days  ago,  and  it  was  broken  in,  a  little. 
Still,  it  was  a  long,  dizzy,  diving  road  to 
take,  and  the  two  young  people  looked  it ' 
over  cautiously  before  they  sat  down. 

"  I  think,  by  steering  carefully  there  — 
and  avoiding  those  stumps  —  and  putting- 
down  brakes  there,  we  can  make  it,  don't 
you,  Miss  Fay  ?  "  said  Don  eagerly. 

"  I  rather  think  so,"  said  Fay,  calculating 
the  pitch  with  her  trained  eyes.  "  I  Ve 


FRIENDSHIP   ON  A   TOBOGGAN.         129 

coasted  here  forty  times  on  a  common  sled. 
We  call  it  a  little  too  steep  for  bobs." 

"Oh,  a  toboggan  is  ever  so  much  safer 
than  a  bob,"  explained  Don  confidently. 

"All  right,"  nodded  Fay.  "Go  ahead. 
I  'm  not  afraid,  if  you  're  not." 

He  started  slowly.  How  delightful  was 
the  toboggan !  Fay  held  on  tight,  and 
laughed  out  like  a  little  girl.  They  began  to 
move  —  to  start  —  to  skim  —  to  plunge  — 
to  fly.  Small  Tom  was  a  very  small  moun 
tain,  but  a  very  big  hill.  He  reared  his 
humped  side  like  a  rocking  camel,  and  that 
toboggan,  once  under  way,  went  down  like 
madness.  It  was  all  done  in  who  knew  how 
few  moments  ?  A  whirr  —  a  whizz  —  a  dive 
—  a  flash,  —  and  something  had  happened. 
Somewhere,  a  sunken  stump  had  snagged, 
or  Small  Tom's  crust  had  yielded,  —  they 
never  knew  just  what  was  the  matter ;  but 
there  was  a  crash,  a  bump,  stars,  darkness, 
pain,  and  snow  in  the  throat,  and  —  oh,  who 
was  hurt? 

Don  crawled  to  his  feet,  where  he  lay 
sprawling  under  the  wreck  of  his  expensive 
toboggan.  His  wrists  were  cut  and  his  foot 
bruised,  and  so  on ;  little  hurts ;  not  worth 
speaking  of  ;  but  Fay,  —  Fay  lay  quite  still 


130  DONALD  MARCY. 

on  the  snow.  Blood  flowed  from  her  head. 
She  did  not  cry  out,  nor  speak. 

With  a  horrible  sinking  at  his  heart, 
Donald  got  to  her,  and  got  her  up  from  the 
snow  in  a  sitting  position,  and  held  her 
against  his  arm,  and  called  her  name  des 
perately.  He  had  not  the  least  idea  what  to 
do.  All  the  girls  in  the  world  whom  he  had 
ever  heard  of  in  such  cases  sprained  their 
ankles.  He  could  have  managed  that;  a 
long  course  of  fictitious  reading  had  taught 
him  that  he  must  carry  the  young  lady  in 
his  arms  all  the  way  to  the  nearest  farm 
house.  But  a  wound  in  the  head,  a  bleed 
ing  and  unconscious  girl,  —  this  was  another 
thing.  In  despair,  he  took  his  handkerchief 
and  began  clumsily  to  bind  up  the  cut  in 
Fay's  poor  head. 

"  That  is  n't  the  way,"  said  a  low  voice 
distinctly.  "  Put  it  so,  please." 

With  that,  Fay  held  up  her  head,  as 
straight  as  she  could,  and  moved  a  little 
away  from  his  arm. 

"I've  come  to.  I'll  fix  it.  Don't  be 
scared.  I  'm  not  killed,  Mr.  Don.  I  've  got 
a  bad  bump,  —  but  that 's  all." 

"  What  shall  we  do  ? "  cried  Don  in 
distress.  "How  will  you  ever  get  home? 


FRIENDSHIP  ON  A  TOBOGGAN.    131 

You  're  not  fit  to  tramp  down  this  blamed 
mountain.  Won't  you  let  me  carry  you  — 
somehow  ?  " 

"  Dear,  no  !  "  Fay  sat  straighter,  and  be 
gan  to  laugh.  "  I  'm  a  heavy  girl.  I  should 
break  your  back." 

"  I  'm  used  to  tossing  Freshmen  —  in 
blankets,"  urged  Don. 

"  I  'm  a  Junior,"  retorted  Fay  ;  "  I  've  got 
past  that.  You  just  help  me  a  little  till  I 
don't  feel  so  dizzy,  and  I  '11  get  down  to  Joe 
Jouncey's,  —  that  first  farmhouse.  It 's  the 
one  where  the  girl  peeked  through  the  win 
dow.  They  '11  let  me  have  their  old  Lamen 
tations,  —  he  's  the  horse.  I  'm  all  right, 
only  a  little  achy  and  shaky,  and  I  am  cut 
some.  But  it 's  nothing  much.  Don't  look 
so !  "  entreated  Fay. 

Perhaps  Don  was  not  to  be  blamed  for 
looking  anyhow,  just  then.  He  never  had 
felt,  in  all  his  life,  what  he  felt  in  that  long, 
cold,  hard  descent  of  Small  Tom,  with  Fay, 
bleeding  and  white,  plucky  and  silent,  shaken 
from  all  her  pretty  little  independence,  and 
leaning  on  his  arm  heavily,  because  she  sim 
ply  could  not  move  alone. 

"I'm  not  much  hurt,"  she  assured  him 
from  time  to  time  ;  "  I  shall  be  all  right  in 
a  day  or  two." 


132  DONALD  MARCY. 

But  Don's  heart  was  wrung  within  him. 
He  looked  at  her  speechlessly.  He  longed 
so  to  carry  her,  to  hold  her,  to  comfort  her, 
that  he  did  not  know  how  to  keep  his  arms 
off  from  her. 

But  Fay's  sweet  eyes  dropped  before  his 
own.  In  spite  of  her  pain  and  her  pallor, 
she  faintly  and  appealingly  blushed.  Donald 
set  his  teeth,  and  looked  away  from  her 
across  the  blinding,  blurring  fields  of  snow. 

Alone  there,  a  mile  from  a  human  eye, 
upon  the  mountain-side,  with  a  faint  and 
wounded  girl,  the  young  man  would  not  so 
much  as  have  pressed  his  lips  upon  her  hand, 
nor  touched  her  with  the  lightest  touch  which 
she  was  brave  and  sturdy  enough  to  manage 
to  do  without.  Solitude,  sympathy,  suffer 
ing,  gave  him  no  little  momentary  freedom 
of  that  sort  with  Fay.  He  could  not.  Fay 
was  not  that  kind  of  girl.  He  felt  that  he 
was  not  now  that  kind  of  boy. 

So,  silently  and  sacredly,  the  two  young 
people  got  down  the  mountain-side.  They 
went  straight  to  Joe  Jouncey's,  where  the 
lean  woman  recommended  alum-water  for 
Fay,  and  the  girl  with  the  skin  off  her  tongue 
brought  bandages  for  Don,  and  Lamenta- 


FRIENDSHIP*  ON  A  TOBOGGAN.    133 

tions  was  put  into  the  sleigh,  and  took  the 
minister's  daughter  home,  where  she  was 
very  plucky  and  sweet  till  she  got  well ;  and 
Don  felt  as  if  she  had  been  nearer  to  him 
than  she  would  ever  be  again,  and  was  quite 
sad  about  it,  but  comforted  himself  in  taking 
care  of  her  and  making  many  steps  to  wait 
upon  her,  and  in  ordering  Mr.  Jasper  to  drive 
over  to  Tipton  immediately,  and  never  to 
return  alive  until  he  had  found  a  florist  and 
violets. 

When  Mr.  Jasper  returned  with  no  vio 
lets,  but  proudly  carrying  three  pink  rose 
buds,  eight  scarlet  geraniums,  and  a  quart  of 
smilax,  he  brought  a  letter  for  Don.  The 
letter  was  from  Merry  Gorond.  Donald  put 
that  letter  in  the  air-tight  stove  and  lighted 
his  fire  with  it.  He  did  not  even  break 
Miss  Merry's  elaborate  emerald  seal. 

A  girl  like  that  seemed  as  far  away  from 
his  life  now,  as  the  shouts  of  a  New  York 
hackman  from  the  hymns  sung  at  the  old 
parsonage  piano  on  Sunday  night,  when  Fay 
played  softly,  her  pure  face  lighted  with  a 
feeling  which  the  young  man  felt  that  he 
was  not  fit  to  understand.  Fay  was  a  reli 
gious  girl,  but  she  did  not  talk  to  Don  about 
that.  She  was  afraid  of  "preaching"  to 


134  DONALD  MARCY. 

him,  as  we  have  said  before.  But  Don  un 
derstood  that  she  believed  in  holy  things, 
and  tried  to  live  as  such  believers  do.  He 
began  to  wish  to  be  religious  himself ;  and 
meant  to  ask  her,  some  time,  to  teach  him 
how. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

OVERBOARD. 

IT  was  a  lovely  clay  in  May,  of  Don 
Marcy's  Junior  year.  Harle  harbor  tossed 
to  the  tune  of  a  stiff  breeze.  The  waves  had 
the  cold,  repellent,  blue  color  which  strikes 
the  water  in  a  late  spring.  It  gave  some 
of  the  boys  the  shivers  to  look  at  it ;  but 
they  did  not  say  so.  It  was  "  the  thing  "  to 
make  light  of  all  such  points.  Outside  of 
the  bar  the  "  white-caps  "  began  to  nod  irri 
tably.  In  fact,  there  was  quite  a  sea. 

As  one  stood  on  the  promontory  that  day, 
looking  inward  to  the  decorous  university 
town,  and  outward  to  the  lawless  surf,  bra 
cing  forward  to  keep  one's  hat  on,  beaten  by 
the  chilly  wind,  and  blinded  by  the  blazing 
water,  one  would  not  have  felt  irresistibly 
drawn  toward  "life  011  the  ocean  wave." 
Unless  one  were  very  young  and  very  excit 
able,  or  very  cm  fait  in  the  life  of  Harle, 
one  would  have  experienced  some  surprise 
at  seeing,  a  mile  away,  the  long,  slender, 


136  DONALD   MARCY. 

sharp  outline  of  a  college  shell  piercing  the 
rough  water-line,  and  making  straight  for 
the  bay. 

One  of  these  crazy  little  crafts  led,  by  a 
boat's  length,  an  eight-oared  paper  wherry, 
and  piloted  it  toward  the  bar  with  as  much 
composure  as  if  the  harbor  had  been  a  pan 
of  rising  cream.  This  shell  belonged  to  the 
captain,  and  the  larger  boat  was  manned  by 
the  Junior  crew.  They  were  practicing  for 
the  regatta,  to  be  rowed  with  a  great  rival 
university  in  midsummer.  Marcy  had  put 
a  Senior  at  the  stroke,  and  had  taken  to  a 
single-scull  so  as  to  see  how  the  crew  looked, 
to  criticise,  and  to  perfect  their  form  as  much 
as  possible. 

There  had  been  some  difference  of  opinion 
about  the  condition  of  the  water  that  Satur 
day  afternoon.  Some  of  the  crew  thought 
it  a  little  too  choppy  for  practicing,  for,  as 
is  well  known,  the  shell  is  a  boat  not  adapted 
to  surf  rowing.  But  on  the  crew  there  were 
several  fellows  of  the  sort  who  always  think 
a  thing  can  be  done  anyhow,  and  who  are 
incapable  of  personal  fear,  especially  in  nau 
tical  concerns.  Trouncey  O'Grian  was  one 
of  these,  and  the  captain  of  the  Junior  crew, 
who,  as  we  have  said,  was  no  other  than 
Donald  Marcy,  was  another. 


OVERBOARD.  m  137 

Some  students  on  the  banks,  representing 
the  class-spirit  so  universal  in  college,  looked 
on  with  vigorous  applause  and  Indian  yells 
and  calls ;  thus  supplying  the  element  of 
the  spectator,  which  is  so  necessary  to  give 
the  zest  to,  and  which  so  often  causes  the 
blunder  in,  a  venturous  deed.  The  Fresh 
men  applauded  the  Junior  crew,  which  the 
Seniors  and  Sophomores  criticised  at  their 
pleasure.  Such,  in  the  main,  was  the  turn 
of  sympathy ;  but  as  several  of  these  skilled 
oarsmen  were  on  the  "  'varsity "  crew,  the 
interest  was  more  divided  than  it  would 
otherwise  have  been. 

Among  the  Sophomores,  Lee  Calhoun's 
tall  figure  sauntered  easily.  He  had  lost 
most  of  the  swagger  with  which  he  had  orna 
mented  Freshman  year  and  Harle  society, 
and  was  becoming  like  other  fellows.  His 
tremendous  hazing  experience  had  obviously 
changed  either  the  current  of  college  feel 
ing  toward  Calhoun,  or  else  the  boy  him 
self,  it  was  difficult  to  say  which ;  perhaps 
both  results  had  occurred,  and  each  had 
acted  and  reacted  on  the  other.  When  he 
recovered  from  his  terrible  illness,  Lee  Cal 
houn  found  it  novel  and  agreeable  to  receive 
the  sympathy  of  the  fellows ;  which  they  in 


138  DONALD   MARCY. 

turn  liked  him  none  the  less  for  their  having 
given  to  him.  Perhaps  a  certain  college 
honor  sprang  up  in  his  case,  an  instinct  to 
make  amends  for  his  hard  luck.  Perhaps 
Lee,  who  was  never  to  be  outdone  in  any 
species  of  personal  pride  which  he  com 
prehended,  took  it  to  be  the  plucky  thing 
to  ignore  the  past  and  bury  the  hatchet. 
His  father  had  come  on  and  hotly  informed 
President  Baxter  that  he  must  withdraw  his 
son  from  Harle  University,  but  Lee  himself, 
when  he  got  well,  insisted  on  remaining. 

"  Would  you  have  a  son  of  yours  hazed 
out  of  a  Northern  college  ?  "  he  demanded. 
"  As  a  man  of  spirit,  —  and  a  gentleman,  — 
I  've  got  to  stay." 

Soon  after  Donald  Marcy's  return  from 
his  rustication  in  Vermont,  an  interview  had 
taken  place  between  himself  and  Calhoun, 
the  particulars  of  which  were  never  made 
known  to  the  college.  It  was  of  Marcy's 
seeking  (though  it  was  said  to  be  of  Jamie 
Fleet's  instigating),  but  it  was  certain,  what 
ever  took  place,  that  Calhoun  received  his 
hazor  courteously,  and  that  the  two  boys  re 
mained  on  civil  terms  during  the  rest  of 
Don's  college  career.  It  is  perhaps  unne 
cessary  to  say  that  they  never  became  what 


OVERBOARD.  139 

could  be  called  intimate.  But,  at  least, 
they  always  atoned  for  any  radical  defi 
ciency  in  their  personal  relations  by  that 
excessive  politeness  which  is  so  convenient 
a  substitute  for  affection  in  human  affairs. 

Great  things  were  expected  of  Harle  that 
year.  Bets  on  the  regatta  went  heavily  in 
her  favor,  already,  at  this  early  day.  Her 
Junior  crew  was  her  particular  glory.  This 
crew  had  challenged  the  Juniors  of  the  other 
great  New  England  university  to  a  contest, 
to  take  place  irrespective  of  the  intercolle 
giate  races.  Indeed,  so  much  confidence 
was  placed  in  the  Junior  members  of  the 
university  crew  that  an  international  chal 
lenge  to  an  undergraduate  crew  of  an  Eng 
lish  university  was  actually  proposed  in 
Harle,  if  never  definitely  put  in  motion. 

All  this  was  tremendously  exciting.  The 
boys  talked  boat  from  Monday  morning  till 
Saturday  night.  Don  Marcy  went  wild  with 
the  rest.  It  was  generally  held  to  be  unfor 
tunate  that  Marcy  was  competing  for  the 
great  De  Courtney  prize,  —  the  most  impor 
tant  prize  in  Harle  College ;  a  thing  whose 
value  is  well  known  in  all  collegiate  circles ; 
the  honor  which  decides  a  man  to  be  the  best 
writer  and  speaker  in  his  class,  and  whose 


140  DONALD  HARCY. 

literary  and  oratorical  rank  follows  him 
some  distance  into  the  real  life  which  suc 
ceeds  college  play.  Nobody  had  expected 
that  Marcy,  the  captain  of  the  distinguished 
Junior  crew,  whose  fame  he  had  done  more 
than  any  other  man  to  create,  would  disturb 
the  nautical  glory  of  the  university  by  atten 
tion  to  any  of  those  trifling  scholastic  honors 
which  were  reserved  for  less  muscular  and 
more  studious  men.  It  was  quite  a  shock  to 
Harle  when  Don  came  home  from  Vermont 
in  Sophomore  year,  and,  in  college  phrase, 
"swore  off  on  bumming,"  took  to  his  books, 
went  to  recitation,  doubled  his  electives,  was 
thought  to  cultivate  designs  on  the  scholarly 
Senior  society,  wrote  one  or  two  themes  that 
had  received  the  approval  of  the  Professors, 
brushed  up  his  naturally  fine  elocution,  and 
was  even  suspected  of  studying  for  rank. 

That  these  things  interfered  seriously  with 
the  interests  of  any  college  crew  was  well 
known.  It  was  thought  to  be  a  great  pity 
that  the  happy-go-lucky,  handsome,  graceful 
fellow,  one  of  the  best  oarsmen  in  Harle  Col 
lege,  should  have  his  mind  diverted  by  the 
trifles  of  the  recitation-room  and  the  plat 
form.  Few  of  the  boys  (and  as  for  those  few, 
who  listened  to  them  ?),  a  very'  few,  said :  — 


OVERBOARD.  141 

"  Too  bad  that  a  fellow  who  has  a  chance 
for  the  De  Courtney  should  be  mixed  up  with 
racing." 

But  the  groups  on  the  banks  on  practicing 
days  said  only  :  — 

"  What  a  shame  that  the  captain  should 
be  bothered  by  the  De  Courtney ! " 

On  this  particular  Saturday  afternoon, 
Don  was  very  happy.  He  had  worked  hard 
all  the  week,  and  felt  that  he  had  earned  his 
play  even  by  that  supernaturally  high  stand 
ard  of  diligence  which  it  had  become  his 
pleasure  to  cultivate  of  late. 

A  certain  little  lady,  with  the  scholar  in 
her  brows  and  the  romp  in  her  eyes,  had 
never  seen  fit  entirely  to  discourage  Don's 
nautical  tastes  ;  she  was  too  good  an  oars- 
woman  herself ;  secretly,  she  was  rather 
proud  of  his  rowing.  In  the  spring  vacation 
of  Sophomore  year,  she  had  stopped  over  a 
day  at  Harle  to  see  her  brother,  and  Don 
took  her  out  on  the  bay.  Fay  viewed  his 
stroke  critically. 

"  You  '11  be  captain  of  the  Junior  crew," 
she  said,  when  they  landed.  "  You  '11  row 
at  the  regatta." 

"By  your  permission?"  asked  Don  with 
a  courtly  bow,  so  low  that  it  hid  the  gentle 


142  DONALD  MARCY. 

look  in  liis  eyes  which  waited  obedient  on  the 
lightest  wish  of  a  girl  who  thought  so  little 
about  her  power  upon  him  that  she  never 
tried  to  use  it,  and,  by  her  sweet  unconscious 
ness,  increased  its  force  tenfold. 

"  On  one  condition,"  nodded  Fay,  spring 
ing  from  the  boat  without  the  help  of  the 
young  man's  hand. 

"That  is?" 

"  The  De  Courtney  prize,"  said  Fay. 

"  The  De  Courtney  ? "  gasped  Don. 
"  Why,  that  is  —  I  mean  —  why,  I  'd  rather 
have  it  than  the  valedictory." 

"  You  could  n't  have  that,  anyhow,"  re 
sponded  Fay  ;  "  Jamie  will  get  that.  Every 
body  says  so." 

"  Of  course  he  will,"  said  Don.  "  But  he 
can.  I  could  n't  get  the  De  Courtney." 

"  And,  pray,  why  not  ?  "  demanded  Fay. 

"  Why,  I  never  thought  of  it !  "  said  truth 
ful  Donald. 

From  that  hour  it  might  be  almost  said 
that  he  thought  of  nothing  else.  There  was 
no  doubt  about  it  either  among  the  fellows 
or  the  faculty.  Marcy  had  "  gone  in  "  for 
the  De  Courtney  prize. 

He  had  forgotten  it,  though,  that  rough 
afternoon,  —  he  had  to  forget  it.  No  man 


OVERBOARD.  143 

could  take  a  shell  across  Harle  harbor  that 
day  and  not  give  soul  and  body  to  the  shell. 
Don's  color  was  high,  his  rowing  cap  pushed 
far  back  upon  his  bright  curls,  his  keen, 
young  eye  pinioned  to  the  reefs  and  buoys 
that  lined  the  track,  his  finely  developed  arm 
steady  at  the  stroke,  the  muscles  starting 
on  his  straight,  broad  back,  —  what  a  hand 
some  lad  !  Even  the  fellows  felt  it.  Even 
Calhoun  on  the  bank,  tossing  his  cigar,  said 
idly:- 

"  Well-built  chap  —  Marcy." 

The  group  upon  the  bank  followed  the 
crew  with  more  than  usual  interest.  There 
certainly  was  sea  enough  to  make  it  exciting. 
The  shells  cut  the  water  daintily.  The  waves 
splashed  over  them  playfully  to  begin  with, 
then  in  good  earnest.  The  captain  now 
piloted  them,  and  now  drew  back,  and  good- 
naturedly  but  keenly  criticised  the  various 
attitudes  and  strokes.  The  crew  responded 
to  him  in  splendid  style.  It  was  a  daring 
venture.  No  other  crew,  not  even  the 
university  crew,  would  have  dared  go  out 
in  such  water.  The  boldness  of  the  thing 
excited  the  admiration  even  of  rival  classes. 

The  hurrahs  of  the  boys  upon  the  bank 
resounded  through  the  merry  air.  The  very 


144  DONALD  MARCY. 

sun  seemed  to  lie  upon*  the  water  like  a  war 
ship,  and  to  move  swiftly  and  silently  along 
with  the  boys,  as  if  he  had  gone  off  his  dig 
nity  and  stopped  to  practice  with  the  other 
boats. 

There  the  town  lay,  slipping  rapidly  be 
hind  them.  Beyond,  the  bar  dashed  white, 
and  the  sea  called  loudly. 

"  Can't  make  it,"  said  Trouncey.  "  No 
water  for  us  beyond  that  bar,  captain." 

"  Wait  your  orders,"  laughed  the  captain. 
"  I  don't  propose  to  drown  you.  We  '11 
turn  to  leeward  and  spurt  back.  About, 
there  !  About !  Don't  you  hear  ?  About, 
I  say!" 

With  this,  Donald  gave  a  mighty  stroke, 
and  the  frail  shell  whirled  madly  into  the 
teeth  of  the  wind. 

A  cry  started  from  the  crew.  Another 
rang  from  the  spectators  on  the  bank. 

"  The  captain  !  The  captain !  Marcy  's 
overboard  !  It 's  the  captain's  boat !  " 

The  single  shell  had  gone  over ;  the  wind 
had  caught  it  broadside;  the  waves  had 
overturned  it ;  Donald  was  in  the  water. 

Now  the  water  was  very  cold.  The  wind 
had  risen ;  the  sea  with  it.  Upon  such  a  sea 
as  now  tossed  around  the  venturesome  crew," 


OVERBOARD.  145 

nobody  would  have  thought  of  starting ;  but 
they  were  "  in  for  it."  The  captain,  of  course, 
was  a  swimmer,  but  they  were  a  good  quar 
ter  of  a  mile  from  shore.  It  was  seen  in  a 
very  few  moments  that  Donald  was  chilled 
through,  and  that  he  kept  himself  upon  the 
surface  weakly.  He  made  for  the  shore  at 
first ;  then  seemed  to  waver,  weaken,  and 
turn. 

Often  a  tender  accompanies  the  crews, 
rowed  by  a  relief,  in  view  of  possible  acci 
dent.  But  in  this  case  none  was  on  duty. 
The  situation  was  really  very  serious  for 
Don.  He  had  begun  to  have  blind  and  sober 
thoughts,  —  of  his  father,  of  dying,  of  Fay  ; 
a  flash  of  many  startling  dreams  and  mem 
ories,  and  of  strangling  fear.  Under  these 
wilder  visions  ran  a  sense  of  mortification 
that  the  captain  of  the  Junior  crew  should 
drown  himself,  and  alongside  of  the  whole 
medley  one  steady,  matter-of-fact  thought : 

"  If  the  cramp  takes  me,  I  'm  a  goner." 

"  Great  God !  "  cried  Don  suddenly,  "  I  've 
given  out.  I  'm  too  cold.  I  'm  going  down." 

The  roar  of  the  water  in  his  ears  took  on 
a  strange,  sweet  tone,  —  like  a  girl  singing, 
Sunday  night,  in  a  peaceful  home.  If  ever 
the  boy  heard  her  in  the  world,  he  heard 


146  DONALD  MARCY. 

Fay  at  that  moment.     What  was  it  ?    Some 
thing  about  Jesus,  the  lover  of  her  soul :  — 

"When  the  billows  o'er  me  roll.''1 

Then  it  was  that  he  felt  his  arm  seized  by 
a  mighty  grasp.  He  knew  that  clutch.  Who 
in  all  Harle  could  mistake  it  ?  Nobody  but 
Trouncey  O'Grian  could  grip  a  man  like 
that. 

To  say  that  the  Junior  crew  were  para 
lyzed  when  they  saw  Marcy  disappear  would 
be  putting  it  mildly.  Were  it  not  for  the 
superior  weight  and  buoyancy  of  their  craft 
and  their  presence  of  mind  when  the  gust 
struck  them  abeam,  they,  too,  would  have 
gone  under.  A  wild  thought  swept  through 
Trouncey  O'Grian's  whirling  brain.  Don 
ald  must  be  saved  at  any  cost ;  he  would 
be  the  man  to  do  it.  The  feat  which  he 
now  performed  is  yet  talked  of  in  Harle 
College. 

"  My  God,  boys  !  "  came  from  his  sternly- 
set  lips.  His  voice  hissed  like  a  musket-ball 
through  the  storm.  "Rest  on  your  oars. 
Balance  for  your  lives !  Steady !  Don't 
mind  the  water,  or  you  're  goners.  I've  got 
to  jump  !  " 

He  had  let  his  oar  drift  aside.     Dexter- 


OVERBOARD.  147 

ously  he  had  slipped  his  feet  from  the  straps, 
and  without  so  much  as  letting  a  teaspoonf ul 
of  water  in  the  shell,  already  half-swamped, 
the  trained  athlete  had  jumped  in  the  air, 
and  landed  in  the  water. 

"  O  Trouncey  !  "  gasped  Don  reproach 
fully.  "  God  bless  you  !  "  he  spluttered 
tenderly. 

But  Trouncey  O'Grian  said  nothing. 
Holding  the  exhausted  boy  with  his  tremen 
dous  clasp,  he  set  out  mightily  for  shore.  He 
wasted  no  breath  in  words.  Donald  felt  that 
they  were  making  headway,  —  but  that  he 
was  very  cold ;  the  blackness  settled  in  be 
tween  them  and  the  shore. 

"  You  —  can't  —  do  it,  Trouncey,".  he 
muttered  ;  and  then  the  sky  seemed  to  go  out 
utterly,  like  a  quenched  lamp.  At  that 
moment  another  hand  grasped  his  shoulder. 
The  reinforcement  of  a  fresh,  unchilled  man, 
unexhausted  by  the  exercise  of  rowing,  and 
the  better  able  to  bear  the  shock  of  the 
water,  came  bravely  up  to  the  relief  of  the 
two  boys. 

It  was  Lee  Calhoun. 

He  had  learned  to  swim  in  Charleston 
harbor,  —  warmer  waves  than  these  ;  but 
it  seemed  they  trained  no  colder  hearts. 


148  DONALD   MARCY. 

That  night,  when  the  captain  sat  in  his 
room,  a  little  pale,  a  little  shivery,  coddled 
by  Jamie,  with  a  soapstone  hot  enough  to 
burn  his  shoes,  and  lemonade  that  tasted  of 
the  rust  in  the  bottom  of  the  pan  adorning 
the  top  of  the  stove ;  and  when  the  captain 
was  generally  "  receiving  "  the  Junior  crew, 
Trouncey  O'Grian  said,  in  a  lower  voice  than 
Trouncey  was  in  the  habit  of  using :  — 

"  Don't  mention  it,  Marcy !  Eemember 
you  let  on  Sophomore  year,  to  let  me  out, 
eh  ?  I  don't  come  of  a  good  family,  I  know," 
added  honest  Trouncey,  "  but  I  don't  forget 
a  thing  like  that,  captain." 

"  Ya-as,"  drawled  Lee  Calhoun,  "  I 
thought  of  that  affair  myself.  I  could  n't 
omit  it  from  the  curriculum  when  I  saw  you 
going  down." 

He  did  not  explain  himself  further.  But 
everybody  remembered  that  it  was  Marcy  who 
took  the  Freshman  out  of  the  coffin,  not 
many  minutes  too  soon.  The  three  princi 
pals  in  that  memorable  event  looked  at  each 
other  with  something  of  the  curious  tender 
ness  of  reconciled  sections  after  civil  war. 
Donald  colored  slightly.  Trouncey  shook  his 
big  head.  But  Lee  was  quiet,  self-possessed, 
and  cool.  It  is  the  delightful  thing  about 


OVERBOARD.  149 

college  friendships,  that  they  easily  override 
grudges  and  trifles,  and  gather  together  all 
sorts  of  sympathies  and  loyalties,  from  all 
kinds  of  natures ;  each  bound  to  many  by 
that  young  glow  and  fervor  of  feeling  which 
adoration  for  his  Alma  Mater,  and  nothing 
else  in  life,  can  give  a  man. 

But  Donald  was  thinking  of  another 
thing. 

Donald  had  a  sore  throat.  He  was  won 
dering  what  effect  this  was  likely  to  have 
upon  the  daily  elocutionary  drill  which  he 
practiced  for  the  De  Courtney. 

There  was  but  one  competitor  whom  Marcy 
really  feared  ;  his  most  important  rival,  — 
a  fellow  by  the  name  of  Hallo  well,  who  had 
entered  Harle  and  the  Junior  class  that  year. 
Tom  Hallowell  was  four  years  older  than 
Donald  ;  and  a  more  practiced  writer.  But 
he  was  a  poorer  speaker.  Donald  depended 
upon  his  own  elocution,  perhaps  quite  as 
much  as  he  was  justified  in  doing.  For 
some  reason,  nobody  could  tell  just  why, 
Hallowell  was  not  popular  in  Harle  College. 
For  one  thing,  he  had  gone  too  hard  and  too 
fast  into  class  politics.  He  was  a  brilliant, 
black  -  mustached,  self  -  satisfied  fellow,  who 
had  a  vague  name  for  being  too  shrewd, 


150  DONALD   MARCY. 

what  is  called  "  a  little  tricky,"  —  in  short,  a 
college  politician.  Yet  no  misdemeanor  had 
ever  been  clearly  proved  against  him  ;  and 
Don  used  to  say  good-naturedly  :  — 

"What's  the  matter  with  Hallowell? 
He  's  all  right." 

Donald  was  on  excellent  terms  with  his 
rival.  This  was  considered  good  form. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE   DE    COURTNEY. 

THAT  sore  throat  following  the  ducking 
in  Harle  harbor  proved  to  be  no  light  mat 
ter  to  Donald  Marcy.  He  was  not  very  ill. 
His  superb  health  gave  him  force  to  throw  off 
a  chill  which  would  have  endangered  the  life 
of  a  weaker  boy.  But  he  worried  through  a 
rasping,  obstinate  inflammation  of  the  larynx, 
which  came  to  the  verge  of  a  case  of  laryn 
gitis,  and  could  not  be  fooled  with. 

The  Professor  of  elocution  sent  Donald  to 
a  doctor  ;  and  the  doctor  ordered  the  daily 
drill  for  the  De  Courtney  stopped  for  two 
weeks. 

This  was  a  great  blow  to  Don.  He  writhed 
under  it  smartly.  He  had  never  known  what 
it  was  to  be  thwarted  by  sickness  in  any 
thing  that  he  wished  exceedingly  to  do ;  and 
his  rebellious,  young  soul  rose  defiant  at  the 
first  stroke  of  tyranny  on  the  part  of  the 
body  ;  whose  terrible  power  over  human  suc 
cess  he  had  never  thought  of. 


152  DONALD   MARCY. 

Jamie  Fleet  comforted  him,  and  took  care 
of  him  like  a  mother  and  a  sister  and  a  chum 
combined  in  one  thoughtful,  unselfish,  ten 
der  fellow.  But  even  Jamie  could  not  con 
sole  the  worried  boy.  The  fellows  came  in, 
—  but  what  could  the  fellows  do?  His 
mother  wrote  him,  advising  some  of  her  doc 
tor's  troches ;  which  gave  him  a  sick  head 
ache  immediately.  His  father  sent  word  that 
he  was  too  busy  to  write,  and  that  Donald 
probably  deserved  the  misfortune.  Tom 
Hallowell  condoled  with  him  ;  but  there  was 
a  spark  of  ill-concealed  delight  in  his  rival's 
eye.  Miss  Merry  Gorond  stopped  him  on 
College  Street,  hung  upon  his  arm,  and  in 
sisted  on  expressing  her  sympathy  through 
a  dotted  red  lace  veil,  and  in  a  new  walking- 
jacket  of  tan-colored  corduroy,  with  gloves 
to  match. 

"  Say  —  Marcy !  So  sorry  for  you  that 
you  've  got  balked  on  the  De  Courtney  !  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Donald,  bowing  icily. 
"  I  have  by  no  means  abandoned  competing 
for  the  De  Courtney." 

"  Oh,  well,  what 's  the  odds  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Merry  lightly.  "  It 's  a  stupid  thing,  any 
how.  I  never  knew  any  real  society  fellows 
to  get  it.  Don't  be  down,  Don,  —  why  don't 


THE  DE  COURTNEY.  153 

you  ever  come  to  see  a  girl,  in  these 
days?" 

"  I  have  been  very  busy,  Miss  Merry." 

"  You  have  never  forgotten  —  nor  forgiven 
me,"  said  Merry,  in  a  changed  tone.  "  And 
yet,"  she  said,  "I  didn't  do  anything  — 
in  particular — to  vex  you  so."  Her  eyes 
fell.  Her  handsome  face  grew  grave. 

"  I  am  not  your  judge,  Miss  Merry,"  re 
plied  Donald  coldly.  "  Besides,"  he  added, 
"  I  was  not  wholly  pleased  with  myself, 
either,  that  evening.  I  think  the  less  we 
say  of  it,  the  better." 

"Good-morning,"  he  pursued,  with  some 
embarrassment,  for  Merry  did  not  answer. 
Her  eyes  looked  dark  and  dim.  If  she  had 
been  a  different  girl,  he  would  have  thought 
those  real  tears  which  she  bent  to  hide  from 
him.  But,  somehow,  Merry's  emotion  did 
not  touch  him.  It  trickled  off  his  sensi 
bility.  He  lifted  his  hat  to  her  with  cold 
courtesy,  and  passed  on.  A  vision  of  a  dif 
ferent  girl  passed  with  him,  and  seemed  to 
keep  step  with  him,  —  a  girl  with  elastic 
tread,  and  sweet,  bright,  modest  face  ;  she 
did  not  touch  him  ;  but  there  was  something 
in  her  look  which  enfolded  him  as  if  he 
walked  in  a  sunlit  cloud,  and  trod  upon  the 


154  DONALD   MARCY, 

summer  air.  When  he  got  back  to  his  room 
he  found  a  letter  from  her,  written  from 
Northampton.  Fay  did  not  write  often. 
She  graduated  this  year  ;  and  was  too  busy 
to  think  too  much  even  of  Don. 

DEAR  MR.  DON,  —  I  would  n't  be  blue  about 
it,  would  you  ?  I  own,  it  's  awfully  hard.  I 
was  so  upset  when  you  wrote  me  about  it,  that 
I  put  my  mucilage  brush  into  the  ink-bottle, 
pasted  my  thesis  with  it,  and  then  sprinkled  my 
luncheon  with  sachet-powder.  I  think  it 's  too 
bad,  but  really,  sir,  I  don't  believe  it 's  going 
to  make  a  bit  of  difference  !  No,  I  don't !  It 's 
my  opinion  you  are  going  to  get  that  prize.  I 
would  if  I  were  you. 

Hurriedly  and  sincerely  yours, 

FAY  FLEET. 

This  little  note  gave  Donald  incredible 
courage.  With  all  his  nonchalance,  and 
social  ease,  and  apparent  self-confidence,  he 
was  easily  disheartened ;  and  as  sensitive 
as  a  thermometer  to  the  right  emotional  or 
intellectual  weather. 

Fay  supplied  it.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
she  always  did.  He  said,  "  Bless  her ! " 
Then,  after  a  moment's  thought,  "  God 
bless  her ! "  He  took  the  little  note,  and 
would  have  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  But  then 


THE  DE  COURTNEY.  155 

he  remembered  that  he  had  no  right  to  do 
this.  He  thought  Fay  might  not  like  it. 
So  he  locked  it  up  in  his  desk,  tenderly, 
instead.  Jamie  came  in,  and  asked  if  he 
might  see  what  Fay  had  to  say.  Donald 
said,  "  Oh,  certainly,"  for  he  thought  Fay 
would  rather  he  did  not  refuse.  She  never 
wrote  one  word  that  her  brother  could  not 
have  seen. 

Donald  began  to  cultivate  a  patience  as 
foreign  to  him  as  the  Sanskrit  grammar. 
He  rested  his  throat,  avoided  the  nervous 
friction  of  rebellious  worry,  and  gave  him 
self  over  for  two  weeks  to  close  work  upon 
the  thought  and  style  of  his  oration.  His 
subject  was  :  "  The  Influence  of  Imagina 
tion  upon  Science  ;  "  one  of  those  extraor 
dinary  themes  upon  which  college  boys  are 
expected  to  pour  the  accumulated  wisdom  of 
twenty  years. 

Donald  had  said  all  he  knew  about  it,  and 
a  good  deal  more.  In  fact,  he  stood  very 
much  in  awe  of  that  oration.  It  needed 
some  clarification,  at  least  to  the  mind  of 
the  orator,  if  not  to  the  understanding  of  his 
hearers.  That  two  weeks'  work  "  told  "  upon 
Marcy's  address.  Perhaps  —  who  can  say  ? 
—  the  patient  bearing  of  a  hard  thing,  the 


156  DONALD  MARCY. 

endurance  of  denial,  the  presence  of  physical 
pain  and  inferiority,  the  feeling  of  helpless 
ness  against  uncontrollable  powers,  and  the 
exercise  of  tense  brain  application,  —  because 
it  was  all  he  could  do  in  the  matter,  —  per 
haps  these  things  told,  too.  Don's  courage 
came  up  again.  At  the  end  of  the  fortnight 
he  returned  to  the  elocutionary  Professor, 
and  the  drill  went  bravely  on.  But  three 
weeks  now  remained  before  the  De  Court 
ney.  Don's  hopes  rose.  Jamie  believed  in 
his  chance,  and  said  so,  loyally.  Most  of 
his  friends  did  as  much.  Tom  Hallowell 
smoothly  congratulated  him  upon  his  pros 
pects,  and  expressed  doubts  as  to  his  own 
success.  But  the  bets  in  general  were  about 
evenly  divided  between  Hallowell  and 
Marcy.  There  were  eight  other  competitors. 
Jamie  Fleet  was  not  one  of  them.  Jamie 
was  not  a  speaker,  and  studied  too  closely 
for  rank  to  take  the  time.  Trouncey 
O'Grian  was  not  one  either.  Trouncey  was 
low-spirited  in  these  days.  Poor  Trouncey, 
do  his  best,  was  not  a  scholar.  He  was 
afraid  of  being  dropped. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

WHO    WINS  ? 

THE  June  day  on  which  Harle  College 
competed  for  the  highest  oratorical  prize  of 
the  course  dawned  gloriously.  A  well-regu 
lated  excitement  pervaded  the  whole  institu 
tion.  The  boys  usually  behaved  very  well 
on  that  day.  The  honor  appertaining  to 
the  De  Courtney  was  felt  to  be  great.  The 
prize  was  a  long-established  one,  full  of  his 
toric  interest.  Some  of  the  most  eminent 
men  in  America,  in  politics,  in  the  bar,  in 
the  pulpit,  had  been  De  Courtney  men  in 
Junior  year  at  Harle.  Even  Marcy's  preoc 
cupied  father  had  blazed  out  in  a  little  flash 
of  interest  in  his  son's  chances.  He  wrote  : 

"  It 's  the  thing,  you  know,  —  it 's  quite  the 
thing,  —  De  Courtney.  It  will  help  you  on.  It 
will  give  you  prestige.  I  will  come  on,  if  I  can 
possibly  get  off.  Your  mother  sends  her  best 
wishes,  and  regrets.  She  would  come,  if  it  were 
not  for  the  condition  of  her  spine  or  her  heart,  — 
I  forget  which.  She  is  quite  under  the  weather 
just  now." 


158  DONALD  MARCY. 

Neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Marcy  was  present 
to  hear  Donald,  but  many  strangers  were. 
Guests  came  from  near  and  far.  Each  one  of 
the  other  competitors  was  honored  by  a  group 
of  adoring  relatives,  all  believing  that  their 
individual  darling  was  sure  to  be  the  suc 
cessful  man.  Many  visitors,  also,  came 
from  a  merely  general  interest  in  the  occa 
sion,  which  was  always  a  pleasant  one  to 
the  university  town  and  its  suburbs. 

Summer  toilets  filled  the  streets,  and  glis 
tened  in  the  packed  hall.  Smiling  nods  and 
bright  eyes  dotted  the  audience  with  little 
sparks  of  good  humor  and  expectation.  The 
house  was  thronged.  An  hour  before  two 
o'clock,  not  a  seat  was  to  be  had. 

Dr.  Fleet  had  come  on  from  Vermont, 
and  was  securely  packed  away  by  Jamie  in 
one  of  the  seats  of  honor  by  half-past  one. 
A  reserved  seat  was  empty  beside  him.  It 
was  a  great  event  for  the  minister  to  take 
that  journey  to  Harle.  But  Dr.  Fleet  had  a 
very  important  engagement  at  Smith  Col 
lege  the  day  before.  Fay  was  graduating. 
Besides,  he  said  that  he  thought  he  'd  better 
see  Jamie,  who  was  going  to  the  seaside  to  tu 
tor  some  boys  directly  after  Commencement, 
and  would  not  be  in  Tipton  till  —  who  knew 


WHO  wwsf  159 


when?  Jamie  knew  very  well  that  his 
father  would  not  have  lost  the  chance  to 
hear  his  "  other  boy  "  compete  for  the  De 
Courtney,  if  he  had  to  wear  his  old  over 
coat  all  winter  to  make  up  for  the  travel 
ing  expense.  It  was  a  "  real  trial  "  (so  she 
said,  and  she  seldom  said  that  of  anything) 
to  gentle  Mrs.  Fleet  not  to  go,  too  ;  but 
that  was  out  of  the  question.  She  had  to 
content  herself  with  sewing  and  praying  for 
Fay.  As  for  Donald,  Mrs.  Fleet  wrote 
him  the  prettiest  little  good-luck  note  in  the 
world,  and  made  him  a  special  necktie  for 
the  occasion  out  of  a  piece  of  her  wedding- 
dress. 

Jamie  himself  was  keenly  excited.  He 
was  as  pale  as  if  he  had  been  going  to  speak 
himself  ;  paler  than  Don,  whose  rich,  live 
color  was  a  trifle  abated,  but  no  more. 
Jamie  hovered  over  Don  till  the  last  mo 
ment,  with  his  lingering,  loving  eyes,  then 
wrung  his  hand  hard,  said,  "  Good  luck  to 
you,  old  boy  !  "  and  pulled  his  hat  over  his 
eyes  and  ran  off.  Donald  was  in  the  green 
room.  He  called  after  his  chum  :  — 

"  Say  !  You  '11  take  a  carriage  from  the 
station?  Put  it  on  my  bill,  please.  Oh, 
come  !  —  you  will,  won't  you  ?  " 


160  DONALD  MARCY. 


" Y-yes,"  answered  Jamie  —  "if  you  want 
it  so  much." 

"  And  be  sure  you  're  in  plenty  of  time," 
cried  Don  nervously.  u  Get  in  early,  sure 
pop  !  " 

Nobody  had  ever  seen  Don  nervous  before. 
But  when  it  came  quarter  of  two  o'clock  he 
was  to  be  seen  fidgeting  up  and  down  in 
front  of  the  hall  at  a  great  rate.  The  green 
room  could  n't  hold  him.  The  boy,  in  his 
dress-suit,  with  Mrs.  Fleet's  wedding-tie  ex 
quisitely  knotted  under  his  well-cut  chin, 
and  the  blue  ribbon  binding  The  Influence 
of  Imagination  upon  Science  sticking  out 
from  his  breast  pocket,  marched  to  and  fro 
with  a  restlessness  not  calculated  to  calm 
the  nerve  that  was  to  win  the  great  De 
Courtney  prize. 

Fifteen  minutes  !  —  ten  minutes  before 
two !  Where  was  Jamie  ?  What  could 
this  mean  ?  Nine  minutes  —  eight  —  seven  ! 
Don  dashed  his  watch  into  his  pocket  in  a 
rage  of  anxiety.  Six  minutes  ! 

Ah,  there  !  A  carriage  rolling  madly  up 
the  blazing,  dusty  road !  It  dashed  up,  the 
door  was  flung  open,  and  Jamie  leaped  out, 
wiping  his  hot  face,  and  looking  as  if  he  had 
been  the  horse,  and  had  pulled  that  hack  the 
whole  wav- 


WHO  WINS?  161 

"  Train  late  !  "  he  panted.  "  Go  in,  Don, 
go  in  !  Father  '11  keep  the  seat.  She  's  all 
right." 

A  pretty  figure  in  a  plain,  pale-brown,  sum 
mer  traveling-dress,  and  little,  brown  straw 
bonnet,  with  a  dash  of  blue  in  it,  jumped 
after  Jamie  and  held  out  both  hands  to  Don, 
impulsively.  She  held  a  blue  fan  in  one. 
Blue  was  Fay's  color. 

"  I  thought  you  'd  never  come !  "  cried 
Donald  rapturously.  "  I  shall  get  it  now,  — 
I  shall  win,  now  you  're  here." 

"  Of  course  you  '11  win,  anyhow !  "  said 
Fay,  blushing  delightfully.  They  talked  in 
ecstatic  snatches  as  Jamie  hurried  them 
toward  the  hall. 

"  So  you  graduated  yesterday  !  " 

"  Was  n't  it  nice  ?  That 's  why  I  could 
come  to-day." 

"  It 's  cruel  I  could  n't  come.  But  you 
see  I  could  n't.  You  don't  look  a  bit  more 
learned,  that  I  see.  You  have  n't  got  that 
Greek  expression  yet." 

"  Greek  met  Greek,  sir,  —  I  don't  need  it. 
Are  you  scared  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit.  I  was  —  a  little.  I  'm  not 
now." 

"  Good-luck  go  with  you,  Mr.    Don  !     I 


162  DONALD  MARCY. 

asked  that  you  should  get  it,"  said  Fay,  in 
a  low,  sober  tone. 

"You  asked?" 

She  nodded.  Then  Donald  understood 
that  Fay  had  been  praying  that  he  might 
succeed  on  that  great  day. 

But  Jamie  dragged  her  off  then.  Donald 
wruiiff  her  hand  and  dashed  back  to  the 

O 

green-room,  and  tried  to  cool  his  emotions  in 
a  big  pail  of  very  strong  lemonade,  provided 
to  encourage  the  speakers ;  and  he  was  prin 
cipally  successful,  in  this  case,  in  puckering 
his  mouth  very  much,  and  ravaging  his  soul 
with  despair  because  he  could  not  get  a 
glass  down  in  the  audience  to  Fay,  who 
must  be  so  warm  and  dusty,  poor  thing  I 
But  how  like  a  shaded  flower  she  looked ! 
So  pretty,  so  fresh,  so  cool,  so  sweet.,  so  — 
so  —  so  — 

But  the  speaking  had  begun.  The  buzz 
in  the  great  hall  had  ceased.  The  first 
competitor,  a  boy  of  eighteen,  chiefly  legs, 
and  looking  as  white  as  an  ice-cream,  was 
telling  the  audience,  in  a  trembling  voice, 
his  views  on  the  relation  of  the  tariff  to  the 
future  of  American  history.  Donald  was  to 
speak  ninth.  Tom  Hallowell  followed  him. 
Hallowell  was  in  the  green-room,  looking 


WHO  WINS?  163 

extraordinarily  self-possessed.  Don  looked 
at  him.  Why  was  it  that  nobody  exactly 
liked  Hallowell  ?  He  was  a  gentlemanly 
fellow,  and  he  stood  well.  He  twirled  his 
heavy,  black  mustache  with  a  slight  smile, 
as  he  returned  Marcy's  look.  Any  fellow 
in  the  Junior  class  would  have  given  eighty 
marks  for  that  mustache. 

"  It  '11  have  an  effect  on  the  audience, 
too,"  thought  Don.  "  It  increases  his 
chances,  blame  him !  " 

But  he  shook  hands  cordially  with  Hal 
lowell,  who  inquired  after  his  throat.  Then 
Donald  sat  down  on  an  overturned  ice 
cream  keg  in  the  corner,  —  it  was  the  coolest 
spot  he  could  find,  —  and,  drawing  the  blue- 
ribboned  manuscript  from  his  pocket,  he 
devoted  his  attention  exclusively  to  the  "  In 
fluence  of  Imagination  upon  Science"  until 
his  moment  came. 

"Donald  O.  Marcy,  New  York  city. 
The  Influence  of"  — 

But  Don  heard  no  more.  He  stood  upon 
the  stage  with  his  brain  in  a  whirl.  He 
knew  that  the  Professor's  voice  had  ceased 
announcing  him,  that  his  own  struck  in 
upon  the  dreadful  silence  ;  that  it  hesitated, 
strengthened,  rose,  and  filled  the  hall ;  that 


164  DONALD  MARCY. 

his  courage  rose  with  his  voice,  and  that  in 
three  minutes  he  was  past  all  peril  of  stage- 
fright,  and  would  just  as  lief  have  addressed 
twenty  thousand  people  as  two. 

While  he  spoke  he  saw  everything, — 
everybody;  the  flutter  of  fans  all  over  the 
hall.  There  was  one  —  a  scarlet  one  —  far 
by  the  doors  ;  he  knew  that  blazing  fan  ;  it 
was  Merry  Gorond's.  He  saw  the  President 
and  his  family  sitting  in  state  near  the 
front,  and  knew  by  the  hitch  in  the  Presi 
dent's  left  eyebrow  that  he  was  doing  pretty 
well  so  far.  Prexy  never  cultivated  that 
look  for  a  failure.  He  saw  the  Professor's 
daughter,  whom  he  used  to  take  to  drive ;  he 
thought  she  looked  a  little  old,  to-day.  He 
saw  all  the  fellows,  —  he  noticed  that  George 
Washington  Clay,  the  negro,  had  on  a  new 
frock-coat,  and  wondered  if  he  hired  it 
from  a  pawnbroker's.  He  saw  Calhoun 
and  O'Grian,  quite  distinctly.  Trouncey 
was  one  of  the  ushers.  He  was  listening,  all 
ears,  all  eyes,  a  big,  good-hearted,  unreason 
ing  adorer,  hoping  with  all  his  might  that 
the  speaker  would  "  come  in  at  the  death." 
Lee  Calhoun  was  attending  politely,  not 
wishing  him  ill,  either.  Jamie,  pale  with 
emotion,  half  hidden  by  a  pillar,  lifted  to 


WHO   WINS?  165 

the  young  speaker  the  face  of  gentle  trust 
which  had  steadied  him  through  so  many 
college  scrapes,  and  had  for  three  years  been 
so  dear  to  him,  —  Jamie,  ready,  Don  half 
believed,  to  give  up  his  own  hope  of  the 
valedictory,  if  he  could  secure  the  De  Court 
ney  for  his  chum. 

And  here  sat  Dr.  Fleet,  his  fine,  scholarly 
face  illuminated  with  critical  pleasure. 
Evidently  the  minister  expected  his  other 
boy  to  win  his  spurs  out  of  that  oration. 
And  here  — 

After  his  eye  had  first  dared  meet  hers, 
it  seemed  to  Donald  that  he  saw  nothing, 
that  he  knew  nothing,  that  he  felt  nothing, 
in  all  this  great,  still  house,  but  Fay.  She 
simply  filled  the  place.  She  sat,  leaning 
forward  a  little,  her  head  slightly  bent,  her 
little  blue  fan,  with  its  white  lace  edge,  held 
poised,  like  a  thought  arrested,  against  the 
curve  of  her  soft  cheek.  Her  sweet,  intel 
ligent  face  was  upturned.  Her  deep  eyes 
seemed  to  veil  themselves  as  if  there  were 
something  more  within  them  than  her  mod 
est  feeling  would  reveal  among  so  many 
people.  Her  attitude,  her  breathlessness, 
her  fitful  color,  her  half-averted  look,  all 
said :  — 


166  DONALD  MARCY. 

"  I  believe  in  you  !  But  I  'm  not  going 
to  tell !  You  're  doing  well.  Steady,  sir,  — 
steady  !  Don't  look  at  me  so  hard !  Stea-dy  ! 
You  'II  get  it" 

The  girl's  inspiration  was  finer  than  wine 
to  him. 

Donald  felt  as  if  he  spoke  on  wings,  and 
lived  upon  the  hopes  of  Paradise.  And 
there !  Before  he  knew  it,  the  young  orator 
had  come  to  the  end,  had  paused,  bowed, 
and  turned  to  leave  the  stage.  A  thunder 
of  applause  recalled  him.  Donald  turned, 
surprised.  He  did  not  expect  such  a  storm. 
Wave  upon  wave  it  broke  about  him. 
Marcy  was  a  very  popular  young  man  at 
Harle.  His  success  was  considered  certain, 
and  the  general  pleasure  was  emphatic. 
Flowers  fell  on  him  as  he  stood  bowing. 
The  Professor's  daughter  classically  asked 
Trouncey  to  toss  a  wreath  of  laurel ;  Merry 
Gorond  stood  upon  a  seat  and  threw,  with 
precision,  a  blazing  bouquet  of  the  reddest 
roses  to  be  found  in  Harle  ;  but  Fay,  —  Fay 
threw  no  flowers ;  she  sat  with  downcast 
eyes.  Donald  felt  a  momentary  pang ; 
when,  softly,  almost  unobserved,  there  fell 
at  his  feet  a  tiny  cluster  of  white  violets, 
hidden  in  their  own  leaves.  Dr.  Fleet 


WHO  WINS?  167 

threw  them  in  a  very  quiet  way  ;  Fay's  card 
was  not  even  tied  to  them  ;  but  that  was  not 
needed.  Donald  gathered  them  quickly  out 
of  sight  and  hid  them  in  his  breast  pocket, 
as  he  bowed  himself  off  the  stage. 

"  Good  elocution,"  he  heard   one   of  the 
committee  whisper,  as  he  passed  by. 

"  The  oration  was  well  constructed,  too." 
Tom  Hallo  well  followed  the  little  furor 
which  his  predecessor's  address  had  caused, 
with  perfect  self-possession.  Marcy's  suc 
cess  did  not  seem  to  trouble  him  at  all.  He 
delivered  his  oration  with  a  grave  self-con 
fidence  which  it  was  impossible  not  to  regard 
respectfully.  His  elocution  was  inferior  to 
his  rival's.  Three  sentences  settled  that. 
But  the  material  of  his  address  was,  it  must 
be  admitted,  remarkably,  even  unexpectedly 
excellent.  He  compelled  attention,  and  held 
what  he  had  compelled.  His  thought  was 
clear,  strong,  even  original ;  his  style  prac 
ticed  and  charming.  Alas,  he  was  an  older 
boy  than  Don,  and  his  maturity  "told." 
When  he  had  finished  his  oration,  he  retired 
among  fewer  flowers  and  less  enthusiasm 
than  his  rival;  but  followed  by  anxious 
looks  upon  the  part  of  some  of  Donald's 
friends. 


168  DONALD  MARCT. 

Fay  did  not  look  anxious.  She  looked 
startled.  Her  cheeks  were  brightly  flushed, 
and  her  eyes  flashed  with  a  singular  look. 
She  made  as  if  she  would  speak  to  her  father, 
but  changed  her  mind,  and  said  nothing,  sit 
ting  lost  in  thought  while  the  committee 
went  out  to  make  their  decision. 

It  was  a  shock,  but  it  was  not  wholly  a 
surprise,  to  many  in  that  audience,  when, 
after  half  an  hour's  debate,  the  committee 
reported  that  the  De  Courtney  prize  was 
awarded  to  Thomas  Z.  Hallowell. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   GIRL    AND   THE   COMMITTEE. 

To  say  that  the  announcement  of  the  com 
mittee  was  a  terrible  blow  to  Donald  Marcy 
is  to  say  nothing  at  all  about  it.  The  sym 
pathy  of  the  audience  and  the  judgment  of 
the  committee,  as  we  know,  had  gone  strongly 
with  him,  until  Hallo  well's  address  was  well 
under  way.  In  fact,  there  had  been  but  one 
opinion  on  the  platform  and  in  the  hall. 
The  De  Courtney  prize  was  as  good  as  given 
to  Marcy,  up  to  the  moment  that  Tom  Hal- 
lowell's  oration  had  snatched  it  so  surpris 
ingly  away  from  him.  Donald  had  under 
stood  this  perfectly  well.  Trusting  to  his 
unquestionably  superior  elocution,  and  un 
derrating,  as,  alas,  it  proved,  the  force  of  his 
rival's  thought  and  the  brilliancy  of  his  style, 
Don  had  retired  from  the  stage,  pressing 
with  Fay's  violets  a  confident  hope  of  suc 
cess  to  his  beating  heart. 

The  bolt  of  defeat  struck  him  like  light 
ning.  He  tried  to  make  the  best  of  it  among 


170  DONALD   MARCY. 

the  fellows,  but  lie  was  greatly  shaken.  His 
chum  reached  him  in  such  time  as  it  takes 
the  report  to  follow  the  flash,  and  got  him 
out  of  the  green-room  and  away,  as  soon  as 
was  possible. 

"I  —  I  must  go  back  and  congratulate 
Hallo  well,"  said  Don,  half-way  down  the 
steep,  winding  stairs,  standing  still,  and 
looking  confusedly  at  Jamie  Fleet. 

"Well  —  if  you  insist  on  it,"  hesitated 
Jamie.  "  I  suppose  it  would  be  the  thing. 
But  I  meant  to  spare  you  that,  old  fellow." 

"  It 's  the  manly  way,"  said  Don.  "  I 
can't  afford  to  seem  mean,  because  I  'm 
beaten." 

He  climbed  slowly  back,  went  in  among 
the  fellows,  and  shook  hands  heartily  with 
Tom. 

"  That 's  kind  of  you,  Marcy,"  said  Hal- 
lowell,  in  a  low  voice.  He  regarded  Donald 
with  a  strange  look.  His  big,  black  eyes 
burned,  and  that  enviable  mustache  worked 
nervously.  Hallowell  was  very  pale,  —  paler 
than  his  defeated  rival.  Several  of  the  fel 
lows  noticed  this,  and  commented  on  it  after 
ward. 

When  Fleet  and  Marcy  got  out  of  doors, 
they  were  met  by  an  usher  with  a  message. 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  COMMITTEE.       171 

They  were  wanted,  he  said,  directly,  on  the 
lowest  step  at  the  right  of  the  front  entrance. 
An  elderly  gentleman  was  there,  and  a  young 
lady ;  they  had  got  out  by  a  side  door,  —  he 
had  helped  them,  the  usher  said,  —  and  they 
seemed  to  be  in  some  haste.  He  believed 
the  young  lady  did  n't  feel  well ;  faint,  per 
haps,  though  the  usher  added  that  she  did  n't 
seem  to  be  the  fainting  kind. 

The  two  boys  hurried  to  the  spot  indi 
cated,  and  were  met  by  Dr.  Fleet  and  Fay. 
Dr.  Fleet  grasped  Donald's  hand  warmly. 

"  Cheer  up,  my  boy,"  he  said.  "  He  's 
older  than  you.  Many  a  De  Courtney  has 
been  won  by  a  poorer  address  than  yours. 
Your  oration  will  be  remembered  in  Harle. 
It  was  downright,  good,  conscientious  work, 
and  would  be  a  credit  to  any  boy  of  your 
age.  I  congratulate  you." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Donald,  trying  to 
smile.  "  It  does  n't  matter." 

He  turned  to  Fay.  Fay  had  not  spoken. 
She  stood  still,  with  burning  cheeks  and  ex 
cited  eyes.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  him 
in  a  silence  which  he  could  not  understand. 
In  some  embarrassment  the  little  party 
moved  on  to  find  the  carriage  which  Don 
had  ordered  to  take  Fay  and  her  father  to 


172  DONALD   MARCY. 

their  hotel.  Naturally,  Don  fell  into  step 
with  Fay,  and  the  two  dropped  behind. 

"  Don't  speak  to  me !  "  began  Fay,  under 
her  breath.  "  I  have  something  very  im 
portant  on  my  mind.  I  can't  talk  yet." 

"  Are  you  ashamed  of  me  ?  "  pleaded  poor 
Don. 

"  I  'm  proud  of  you !  "  exploded  Fay. 

"  Oh !  then  I  don't  care  !  "  cried  Don, 
brightening  swiftly.  "  What  's  the  De 
Courtney,  if  I  have  n't  disappointed  you  ?  " 

At  this  moment  a  group  of  girls  passed 
them,  chatting  noisily.  One  turned,  and 
bowed  to  him  with  marked  interest.  The 
shadow  of  a  red  parasol  wrapped  her  face  in 
a  blaze  of  color. 

"  Too  bad,  Marcy !  "  she  said  loudly,  nod 
ding  her  showy  hat. 

She  glanced  keenly  through  her  red  lace 
veil  at  Fay  Fleet  before  she  passed  on,  and 
smiled,  not  quite  pleasantly.  Donald  looked 
from  Merry  Gorond  to  Fay  ;  his  whole  soul 
sickened  when  Merry  spoke  to  him.  He  felt 
almost  sorry  to  have  such  a  recoil  from  the 
girl.  His  eyes  rested  on  Fay's  pure,  modest, 
intellectual  face  with  a  kind  of  ethereal  pride. 
He  had  no  right  to  look  upon  her  with  any 
other  kind  of  pride ;  his  manly  delicacy 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  COMMITTEE.      173 

never  intruded  by  a  thought  upon  bound 
aries  to  which  he  had  no  charter.  But  his 
whole  nature  bowed  before  her  with  a  beauti 
ful  reverence.  He  felt  as  if  he  could  have 
knelt  at  her  feet,  or  put  his  proud,  young 
curls  humbly  beneath  the  blessing  of  her 
soft  hands. 

For  the  moment  this  emotion  lifted  the 
boy  above  the  cruel  disappointment  he  was 
suffering. 

He  was  recalled  to  the  facts  of  the  day 
by  Fay's  asking  her  brother  if  she  might  go 
and  see  the  college  library.  It  was  late  in 
the  afternoon,  five  o'clock  at  least,  and  both 
Jamie  and  Donald  expressed  some  surprise 
at  Fay's  request.  They  were  all  pretty  well 
tired  out,  to  tell  the  truth.  But  Fay  urged 
her  point  quietly,  and  her  brother  proposed 
that  Don  should  take  her  wherever  she 
wished  to  go. 

"  Father  is  used  up,"  said  Jamie.  "  We 
can't  trot  him  round  libraries  to-day.  He 
knows  every  book  there  by  heart.  I  '11  take 
him  up  to  my  room  to  rest,  Don,  and  you 
look  after  my  sister,  will  you?  I  suppose 
she  has  a  right  to  be  so  all-fired  literary  if 
she  wants  to.  She  's  got  her  diploma.  You 
and  I  are  nothing  but  undergraduates." 


174  DONALD  MARCY. 

So  Donald,  nothing  loath,  escorted  Fay  to 
the  library  alone.  It  was  cooler  there ;  but 
few  visitors  were  visible,  many  of  them  hav 
ing  rushed  for  their  return  trains,  and  more 
having  gone  home  to  get  off  their  hot,  best 
clothes,  and  cool  before  tea-time.  Donald 
and  Fay  sat  down  in  one  of  the  shaded  al 
coves  and  rested  a  minute.  Fay  was  still  so 
silent  that  Don  was  a  little  puzzled  by  her 
manner. 

"  Ask  the  librarian,  please,"  said  Fay 
directly,  "  to  get  me  some  books  I  want, 
will  you?" 

"  Certainly.     And  what,  Miss  Fay  ?  " 

"  Well  —  let  me  see,"  hesitated  Fay.  "  I 
think  I  would  like  to  look  over  Rufus 
Choate.  Has  he  a  good  edition  of  Choate  ? 
It  will  rest  us,  and  give  us  something  else  to 
think  of,  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

Don  was  not  very  sure  about  it,  but  he 
obeyed  the  young  lady  without  question. 
Bringing  two  large  octavo  volumes  of  Rufus 
Choate's  addresses,  he  deposited  them  upon 
Fay's  pretty  brown  lap,  and  sat  down  again, 
watching  her  in  silence  while  she  turned  the 
leaves. 

"Are  you  going  to  read  aloud?"  asked 
Don  presently. 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  COMMITTEE.      175 

"Perhaps  so,"  nodded  'Fay.  "Here! 
There!" 

Her  face  crimsoned  suddenly,  from  brow  to 
chin.  She  read  a  page  to  herself  —  skipped 

—  read  another  —  shut  the  book,  and  hold 
ing   her   finger  to  keep   the   place,  looked 
with  blazing  eyes  at  Don.     She  had  taken 
off  her  warm  glove,  like  the  true  book-lover 
that  she  was,  lest  perchance  a  speck  of  the 
color  from  the  kid  should  mar  the  margin  of 
the  beautifully  printed  page. 

"  It  is  just  as  I  thought !  "  cried  Fay. 
"  Only  I  wanted  to  make  sure  of  it.  I  did  n't 
dare  say  so,  seeing  father  did  n't  find  it  out. 
Father  knows  everything  everybody  has 
ever  written  on  every  subject,  you  know.  I 
did  n't  know  but  I  might  be  mistaken,  since 
he  did  n't  get  up  and  shake  that  fellow  by 
the  coat-collar  and  toss  him  off  the  stage 
into  the  middle  of  the  main  aisle !  "  ex 
ploded  Fay. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  —  Eufus  Choate 

—  do  you  mean  ?  "  demanded  Donald. 

"  I  mean,"  said  Fay  more  quietly,  "that 
Thomas  Z.  Hallowell  has  no  more  right  to 
the  De  Courtney  prize  than  —  than  that  girl 
with  the  red  parasol !  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you   in  the  least," 


176  DONALD   MARCY. 

said  Don,  blushing  in  his  turn.  "  Besides, 
she 's  nothing  to  me  —  that  girl." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  the  girl  !  "  replied  Fay 
impatiently.  "  It 's  the  boy  I  'm  after.  The 
boy  is  a  plagiarist.  He  has  copied  a  great 
part  of  one  of  Rufus  Choate's  orations.  Mr. 
Don,  the  De  Courtney  prize  is  yours." 

"  Let  me  see,"  whispered  Don.  He  was 
trembling  very  much,  and  all  the  color  had 
left  his  face. 

Fay  handed  him  the  big  book,  and  they 
looked  it  over  together.  Donald  felt  the 
agitated  motion  of  her  sweet,  young  breath. 
He  dared  not  look  at  her.  He  pinned  his 
eyes  to  the  page  which  Fay  pointed  out  to 
him. 

"See,"  said  Fay.  "Look  there.  He 
called  his  piece :  '  American  Nationality? 
That  is  the  very  subject.  Mr.  Choate's 
4  Address  on  the  Fourth  of  July]  delivered 
in  Boston  on  July  5,  1858,  Mr.  Hallo  well 
has  copied  a  half  page  —  whole  page — word 
for  word.  Just  read ! 

"'  Did  not  Sparta  and  Athens  hate  one 
another,  and  fight  one  another  habitually, 
and  yet  when  those  Lacedcemonian  levies 
gazed  so  steadfastly  on  the  faces  of  the 
fallen  at  Marathon,  did  they  not  give  Greek 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  COMMITTEE.      177 

tears  to  Athens  and  Greek  curses  to  Persia, 
and  in  the  hour  of  Platcea  did  they  not 
stand  together  against  the  barbarians  ?  ' 

"  Don't  you  remember  how  the  audience 
thrilled  at  that  ?  And  there  —  and  here  — 
and  read  that!  Thrilled  !  "  cried  Fay,  "  I 
should  think  they  would  !  The  idea  of  sup 
posing  that  a  fellow  with  that  kind  of  a 
mustache  —  waxed  on  the  ends  —  could 
write  like  that ! 

"  I  hope,"  added  Fay,  looking  perfectly 
magnificent,  "  that  he  has  n't  got  a  sister, 
or  a  —  a  real  nice  girl  friend  anywhere  to 
be  mortified  dead  ashamed  of  him,  the  scoun 
drel  !  " 

"  Why,  this  is  dreadful ! "  said  Don. 
Really,  for  the  moment,  he  was  thinking 
more  of  Hallo  well's  disgrace  than  of  his  own 
now  well-assured  success. 

He  and  Fay  sat  and  looked  at  each  other 
with  bright,  sympathetic,  young  eyes.  How 
wonderful  it  was  in  that  dim  alcove  !  How 
calm,  how  set-apart,  how  sheltered  !  Their 
joy  seemed  to  mount  from  shelf  to  shelf  of 
the  dreary  old  books,  like  a  little  climbing 
elf  who  made  himself  at  home  everywhere, 
as  human  joy  has  the  right  to  do,  and,  thank 
Heaven,  it  will  take  its  rights. 


178  DONALD  MARCT. 

"  How  —  in  —  the  —  world,"  asked  Don 
ald  in  an  awed  voice,  "  did  you  ever  find  it 
out  ?  " 

He  felt  at  that  moment  as  if  Fay's  learn 
ing  overtopped  the  world.  It  was  positively 
appalling.  How  was  he  ever  to  keep  pace 
with  a  girl  like  that?  —  a  girl  who  knew 
more  than  the  faculty  of  Harle  and  all  the 
De  Courtney  committee  !  So  thought  Don, 
looking  at  her  with  the  reverence  of  a  jani 
tor  at  Hypatia. 

"  Oh,  that 's  nothing !  "  said  Fay  care 
lessly.  "  My  first  thesis  was  on  Rufus 
Choate.  /  was  crammed,  —  people  forget 
the  old  things,  you  know.  It 's  only  a 
chance  who  remembers  what,  I  think,  any 
how.  It  was  just  good  luck  for  me.  I  gave 
up  Rufus  and  wrote  on  Daniel  Webster, 
after  all.  But  I  got  it  into  my  head." 

Donald  and  Fay  passed  out  of  the  cool 
library  into  the  hot,  summer  evening,  in  a 
kind  of  solemn  agitation.  The  consciousness 
of  the  disgrace  they  were  about  to  expose 
began  to  come  to  them  with  heaviness.  To 
hurl  a  young  man  down  from  the  top  of 
glory  (so  far  as  college  life  could  give  that 
glittering  thing)  into  the  dust  of  shame,  — 
of  life-long  shame ;  for  a  deed  like  this  fol- 


THE  GIRL  AND  THE  COMMITTEE.      179 

lows  a  man  to  the  end  in  the  educated  world, 

—  to  dash  him  headlong,  at  a  moment's  no 
tice,  by  one  flash  of  a  girl's  thought,  at  the 
touch  of  a  girl's  hand,  —  it  seemed  hard. 
For  the  moment,  to  Donald's  highly  wrought 
mood,  it  seemed  cruel. 

"  I  don't  want  to  do  it !  "  he  cried,  stop 
ping  short. 

"  You  oucjlit,  I  think,"  said  Fay  firmly. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  argued  Don.  "  I  'd 
better  lose  the  De  Courtney  twice  over  than 
bring  all  that  shame  and  misery  on  people. 
I  saw  his  mother  in  the  audience.  .  .  .  She 
came  way  on  from  the  West  on  purpose.  I 
can't !  "  cried  Don. 

"  I  did  n't  like  her  looks  so  much,"  he 
added  ruefully.  "  She  was  a  showy  woman, 

—  one  of  the  kind  that  wears  —  what  do  you 
call  'em?  shows  her  arms,  you  know,  in  a 
public  hall.     But  she  was  his  mother.   I  saw 
her   crying   when    he    was    speaking,  —  for 
joy,  I  suppose.     Miss  Fay,  I  won't  do  it! 
I  'm  sorry  to  disagree  with  you,  but  I  won't 
tell  of  Hallowell." 

"  What  will  you  do  ?  "  asked  Fay,  turning 
a  bit  pale.  She  knew  when  Don  set  his  lips 
together  that  way,  that  he  meant  business. 
What  he  said,  he  would  perform.  Yet  she 
felt  confident  in  her  own  mind  that  the  facts 


180  DONALD  MARCY. 

of  the  case  ought  not  to  be  suppressed ;  not 
for  Don's  sake  so  much  as  for  the  sake  of 
that  college  honor  so  dear  to  Harle,  and  to 
every  educated  man.  Fay  was  greatly  agi 
tated  and  perplexed  by  the  position  in  which 
she  found  herself.  All  their  happiness  of  a 
moment  ago  had  drifted  away  into  a  swirl  of 
doubt  and  distress.  She  lifted  to  Donald, 
with  tears  in  her  beautiful  eyes,  a  timid, 
womanly  look  that  went  to  his  heart. 

"  Excuse  me,  Miss  Fay,"  he  said  gently ; 
"  but  I  —  can't  talk  about  it  just  now.  I  '11 
see  you  safely  to  our  room,  and  leave  you 
to  J.  and  your  father  for  a  little  while.  I 
have  some  business  to  attend  to." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  Fay. 

"  I  am  going,"  replied  Donald,  holding 
his  head  very  straight,  "  right  to  Hallo  well 
himself.  I  am  going  to  tell  him  that  I  know 
everything ;  and  then  I  'm  going  to  tell  him 
that  I  don't  mean  to  tell.  Maybe  I  'd  bet 
ter  see  Mm.  It  may  do  him  good  for  all  the 
rest  of  his  life." 

He  lifted  his  hat  to  Fay  gravely,  and  hav 
ing  opened  the  door  of  his  study,  where  her 
father  and  brother  sat,  left  her  without  an 
other  word.  She  watched  him  from  the 
window.  He  went  directly  over,  with  ring 
ing  steps,  to  Tom  Hallowell's  room. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A   NOBLE    FELLOW. 

THOMAS  HALLOWELL  was  sitting  in  his 
room,  by  an  odd  chance,  alone.  The  winner 
of  the  great  De  Courtney  prize  was  not  over 
powered  as  yet  by  the  acclamations  of  his 
college-mates.  Perhaps  the  hurrah  was  de 
layed  till  evening,  or  perhaps  there  was  not 
much  heart  for  it  among  the  fellows.  At 
all  events,  when  Donald  Marcy  came  in,  he 
found  Hallowell,  as  I  say.  The  door  was 
half  open,  and  Donald  pushed  in  simulta 
neously  with  his  knock.  He  was  in  time  to 
see  his  rival  lift  a  haggard  face  from  the 
table,  where  he  had  apparently  been  sitting 
with  his  head  buried  in  his  arms. 

"  Ah !  Marcy.  That  is  good  of  you.  Sit 
down.  Glad  you  find  me  alone.  I  've  just 
got  back  from  taking  my  mother  to  her 
train.  Take  an  easier  chair,  do." 

"  So  your  mother  has  gone  back  to  her 
home  ?  "  asked  Donald,  feeling  embarrassed 
before  his  unpleasant  errand. 


182  DONALD   MARCY. 

"  Yes.  She  meets  friends  in  New  York 
who  will  look  after  her.  I  did  n't  expect 
her  on.  She  's  quite  beside  herself  with  the 
result.  I  did  n't  know  but  she  'd  have  hys 
terics  there  in  the  hall.  Women  are  such 
emotional,  undisciplined  creatures  !  My 
mother  is,  unfortunately,  very  partial  to  me. 
I  'm  the  only  son." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Donald  awkwardly.  "  Very 
natural." 

There  was  an  uncomfortable  pause.  Hal 
lo  well  drummed  on  the  table  uneasily.  He 
muttered  some  commonplace  about  the 
weather  or  the  audience.  He  avoided  look 
ing  Marcy  in  the  eye  while  he  spoke.  It 
was  impossible  not  to  notice  this.  But  Don 
ald  regarded  him  steadily.  Suddenly  he 
broke  out :  - 

"  It 's  no  use,  Hallowell.  I  can't  play 
small-talk  under  the  circumstances.  I  Ve 
come  here  for  a  special  purpose,  and  I  may 
as  well  out  with  it." 

"  Pray  do,"  politely  from  Hallowell. 
"  Have  a  cigar  to  help  you  out  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,  I  won't  smoke  just  now. 
I  came  in  to  tell  you,  Hallowell,  —  I  thought 
it  was  the  best  way,  on  the  whole,  —  I  may 
as  well  let  you  know  that  I  know  all  about  it. 
The  game 's  up  —  and  it 's  in  my  hands." 


A  NOBLE  FELLOW.  183 

Hallowell  lifted  his  wandering  eyes  to 
Donald's  face.  It  was  difficult  to  say  which 
of  the  two  boys  was  the  paler,  at  that  mo 
ment. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  began  Hallo- 
well. 

"  Oh,  come !  "  said  Donald,  with  a  slight 
impatience.  "  Don't  be  a  fool.  I  tell  you, 
I  know  everything  " 

"  Do  me  the  favor  to  explain  yourself," 
returned  Hallowell,  with  cold  courtesy. 
"  What  do  you  know  ?  I  fail  to  follow 
you." 

"  I  know  that  it  was  n't  Thomas  Z.  Hal 
lowell  who  won  the  De  Courtney  to-day," 
said  Donald,  in  a  low,  clear  voice. 

"  And  who,  then  ?     Donald  Marcy  ?  " 

"  Kufus  Choate,  sir !  " 

Hallowell  made  a  slight,  quick  movement, 
settled  back  in  his  chair,  put  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  and  regarded  his  visitor,  now, 
with  great  steadiness. 

"  Go  on,"  he  said  boldly ;  but  his  voice 
shook. 

"  You  have  used  Mr.  Choate' s  Fourth  of 
July  address,  delivered  in  Boston  on  July 
5,  1858,  Hallowell.  You  have  cribbed  it 
word  for  word.  You  have  cribbed  whole 


184  DONALD  MARCY. 

pages.  Your  oration  contains  only  so  much 
of  your  own  material  as  is  necessary  to 
weave  together  the  eloquent  passages  from 
one  of  the  first  of  American  orators,  which 
have  given  you  the  prize.  You  are  a  pla 
giarist,  and  a  dishonor  to  the  De  Courtney, 
and  to  Harle  College." 

Donald  brought  these  words  out  firmly; 
but  not  without  gentleness.  He  was  much 
agitated  by  what  he  had  undertaken  to  do, 
and,  torn  between  righteous  rage  and  human 
pity,  knew  not  how  to  work  his  way  through 
this  distressing  interview. 

"  I  'in  awfully  sorry,"  he  said,  when  he 
had  finished.  "  Hallowell !  I  shouldn't 
think  it  would  have  paid.  A  man  must  feel 
so,  afterwards,  — to  do  a  thing  like  that." 

Donald's  fine,  scornful  face,  half  melting, 
half  marble,  looked  like  a  fashionable  young 
angel's,  as  it  regarded  the  dark,  averted 
countenance  of  the  disgraced  man.  For 
some  moments  Hallowell  made  no  answer  at 
all  to  his  accuser,  then  he  took  his  hands  out 
of  his  pockets,  and  brought  the  front  legs  of 
his  chair  down  hard  upon  the  floor. 

"  Well,"  he  said  sullenly,  "your  proofs?" 

"  I  read  Choate's  address  this  afternoon, 
at  a  quarter  past  five,  in  the  college  library." 


A  NOBLE  FELLOW.  185 

"  Who  put  you  up  to  it  ?  " 

"  I  decline  to  say." 

"  I  insist  011  knowing.  You  never  found 
that  out,  yourself.  You  're  not  scholar 
enough.  You  don't  read.  Somebody  told 
you." 

"Well  — yes,"  admitted  Donald,  "some 
body  did." 

"  It  makes  all  the  difference  to  me,  —  all 
the  difference  in  the  world  —  in  all  my  life" 
cried  Hallowell,  his  voice  rising  to  a  sudden 
pitch  of  unmistakable  agony.  "  Who  put 
you  up  to  this  devilish  job?  How  many 
people  have  shared  your  discovery?  All 
over  college,  is  it?" 

Hallowell,  as  he  spoke,  glanced  at  his 
watch.  His  tone  and  manner  were  defiant 
in  the  extreme. 

"  I  have  not  told  a  soul,  Tom,"  said  Don 
ald  gently. 

"  That 's  good  of  you,  Marcy,"  gasped 
Hallowell,  in  a  changed  voice. 

"  I  came  straight  to  you.  I  thought  that 
was  fair.  Nobody  in  Harle  knows  it  but 
just  myself  and  this  —  this  other  person." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  pleaded  Hallowell.  "  Don't 
you  see  I  must  know  ?  " 

"You'll   never  know   from   me,"   firmly 


186  DONALD  MARCY. 

replied  Donald.  "  It  is  a  person  who  discov 
ered  it,  and  who  —  who  told  me." 

"  It 's  a  woman  !  "  cried  Hallowell,  bring 
ing  his  fist  down  sharply  on  the  table,  till 
the  inkstand  and  mucilage  bottle  rang. 

"  It  is  a  lady  —  yes,"  replied  Donald, 
flushing  slightly,  "  but  I  'd  rather  not  men 
tion  her  name." 

"  No  one  but  an  educated  woman  would 
have  discovered  it,"  muttered  the  college 
politician  astutely.  "  She  's  a  college  grad 
uate,  —  so  she 's  a  young  lady.  If  she 's 
young,  she  '11  tell.  Has  she  a  brother  in 
Harle  ?  "  demanded  Hallowell. 

Donald  made  no  reply.  There  followed  a 
long  silence  between  the  two  boys.  Hal 
lowell  broke  it  by  saying  in  a  dull  voice :  — 

"  It 's  all  up  with  me.  It  '11  be  sure  to 
leak  out.  I  may  as  well  let  it  out  myself. 
It 's  a  devil  of  a  business,  anyhow.  I  've 
wished  I  were  out  of  it  for  weeks.  But  I  'd 
got  in ;  I  did  n't  know  how.  It 's  all  one 
with  me !  I  'm  disgraced  !  I  'm  ruined  for 
life!" 

With  a  groan,  the  wretched  boy  dropped 
his  face  into  his  hands,  and  his  tall  frame 
shook  as  if  with  suppressed  and  terrible 
sobs.  The  sight  went  to  Donald's  heart. 


A  NOBLE  FELLOW.  187 

"/  won't  tell,  Hallowell,"  he  urged. 
"  And  she  won't,  if  I  ask  her  not  to.  I  for 
got  to  before  I  came,"  he  added  truthfully, 
"  but  I  '11  get  right  back.  The  young  lady 
won't  cross  my  wishes  about  it.  I  move  you 
don't  say  a  word ;  as  long  as  I  don't  ex 
pose  you,  you  're  safe.  Come,  Hallowell ! 
I  let  you  off,  with  all  my  heart.  A  fellow 
saved  —  that  way  —  would  n't  do  such  a 
thing  again,  would  he?  You  could  tit.  It 
might  make  a  new  man  of  you,  might  n't  it, 
Tom?" 

"  Do  you  really  mean,"  asked  Hallowell, 
in  a  low  voice,  "  that  you  would  give  up 
everything?  The  De  Courtney  is  yours, 
Marcy.  No  doubt  about  it.  You  earned  it. 
You  don't  mean  you'd  go  without  the  De 
Courtney  to  save  a  fellow  you  don't  care 
for  from  —  from  shame  —  and  disgrace  ?  " 

"  I  want  the  De  Courtney,"  admitted 
Don.  "  I  want  it  very  much.  But  that 's 
over  now.  I  don't  want  it  at  the  expense 
of  telling  on  a  classmate.  I  'd  rather  go 
without,  than  think  of  all  that  misery  — 
that  disgrace.  Oh,  Tom  Hallowell !  how 
could  you  ?  " 

"  Marcy,"  said  Hallowell,  —  "  Marcy  "  — 
His  lip  trembled,  his  voice  choked.  "  You  're 


188.         DONALD  MARCY. 

a  good  fellow !  I  did  n't  know  you  were 
that  kind,  —  a  stylish  chap  like  you ;  and 
captain  of  the  Junior  crew,  —  up  to  every 
thing.  A  fellow  might  have  thought  it  of 
Fleet,  or  some  of  those  saints  ;  but  you  "  — 

Donald  smiled,  tossing  back  his  bright 
curls. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  ever  thought  it  my 
self,  Tom,  till  now.  But  it  seems  to  me  a 
clear  case.  I  don't  want  the  thing  at  such 
a  cost." 

"  You  're  a  good  fellow,"  repeated  Hal- 
lowell  drearily.  "  I  could  n't  make  you  un 
derstand  how  I  came  to  do  it.  You  would 
n't  see.  But  it 's  done.  I  've  got  to  abide 
by  it  now.  .  .  .  Before  God ! "  cried  Hallow- 
ell,  shaken  with  sudden  passion,  "  if  I  ever 
get  out  of  this,  you  don't  catch  me  in  such 
a  scrape  again !  Judging  from  what  I  Ve 
undergone  in  the  last  three  weeks,  —  in  these 
last  three  hours,  —  Don  Marcy,  I  declare  I 
believe  it  would  pay  to  be  an  honest  fel 
low  !  " 

Donald  made  no  answer.  This  seemed  to 
him  rather  a  low  motive  for  a  high  purpose, 
and  he  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  the 
"  tricky  "  boy  to  whom  sincerity  did  not  come 
naturally.  But,  perhaps,  to  such  a  nature 


A  NOBLE  FELLOW.  189 

as  Hallo  well's,  even  a  high  wish  must  come 
first  upon  a  low  plane. 

"Well,"  said  Donald  slowly,  "I  don't 
know  that  there  's  anything  more  to  say 
about  it.  I  guess  I  '11  be  going,  Hallowell." 

Hallowell's  face  had  gone  down  into  his 
elbow  again ;  he  seemed  quite  overcome 
with  his  disgrace ;  he  held  out  his  hand 
pitiably  without  looking  at  Donald,  who 
took  it,  after  an  instant's  hesitation.  Hallow- 
ell  wrung  Don's  hand  in  a  grip  of  remorse, 
or  agony,  or  gratitude,  or  reverence,  or  who 
knew  what  ?  Perhaps  in  all  combined ; 
and  Donald  left  him  without  another  word. 

But  when  he  got  back  to  his  rooms,  he 
found  a  scene  of  high  agitation.  Jamie  was 
walking  up  and  down  the  study  in  a  white 
rage.  No  one  had  ever  seen  J.  so  angry  in 
his  life.  Dr.  Fleet  was  excitedly  writing  a 
note  at  the  study  table.  Fay  came  up  to 
Donald  instantly,  and  held  out  both  her 
hands.  She  looked  like  a  pretty  culprit  and 
a  severe  moral  judge  woven  into  one  deter 
mined  and  yet  timid  little  girl. 

"I've  told  father!"  she  cried.  "I  had 
to  tell  my  father.  I  haven't  mentioned  it 
to  another  soul,  —  I  haven't  done  a  thing 
about  it.  I  didn't  dare  to,  till  you  got 


190  DONALD   MARCY. 

back.  But  I  knew  you'd  let  me  tell  fa 
ther.  Are  you  angry  with  me?"  pleaded 
Fay,  drooping  under  Donald's  quick,  keen 
glance. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Don.  How  could  he 
be  angry  with  Fay  ?  He  stood  quite  still, 
looking  about  at  his  three  friends.  His 
face  had  a  high  and  beautiful  expression. 

"  I  've  seen  Hallowell,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  I  've  told  him  I  would  n't  tell.  I  Ve  given 
my  word." 

"  Look  here,  Don,"  pleaded  Jamie,  "  leave 
this  to  father,  won't  you  ?  Your  father  is  n't 
here.  Somebody 's  got  to  advise  you.  He 
knows.  We  're  not  very  old,  yet.  Just  you 
calm  down,  Don,  and  let  father  manage  the 
whole  business." 

"  What 's  your  father  doing,  J.  ?  "  asked 
Donald  sharply. 

"  I  'm  writing  to  the  President,  Donald,' 
said  Dr.  Fleet,  speaking  for  the  first  time. 
"  I  am  suggesting  to  him  that  he  read  Ruf  us 
Choate's  Fourth  of  July  address  for  1858  ; 
and  that  he  withhold  my  name  from  all  con 
nection  with  the  subject.  That 's  what  I  'in 
doing." 

"  I  object,  sir,"  said  Donald  firmly  and 
respectfully.  "  I  forbid  you  to  do  it.  It  is 
my  affair." 


A  NOBLE  FELLOW.  191 

"  Now  there,  Donald,  you  are  mistaken," 
cried  Dr.  Fleet,  suddenly  rising  with  a  force 
which  sent  the  study-chair  sprawling  behind 
his  venerable  and  scholarly  figure.  "  It  is 
not  your  affair  !  Your  affair  is  a  small  part 
of  the  whole  business  !  It  is  the  affair  of 
the  De  Courtney  prize.  It  is  the  affair  of 
Harle  College.  It  is  the  affair  of  Harle 
University.  It  is  the  affair  of  the  whole 
educated  world.  No,  sir  !  You  are  wrong. 
See  here,  sir  !  "  Dr.  Fleet  drew  his  bent 
form  to  its  full  height,  and  his  studious  face 
flashed  with  holy  wrath.  "  I  am  an  alumnus 
of  this  college,  sir.  I  am  an  old  De  Court 
ney  man  myself.  I  won  the  De  Courtney 
in  1836.  You  don't  suppose  I  'm  going  to 
stand  by  and  see  the  De  Courtney  dishon 
ored  and  never  raise  a  hand  to  prevent  it  ? 
Why,  sir,  that  prize  is  fifty  years  old,  and 
such  a  deed  as  this  never  passed  beyond  the 
committee  before,  since  Eliakim  De  Court 
ney  put  three  thousand  dollars  on  deposit  in 
the  Harle  Savings  Bank,  and  willed  the 
principal  and  interest  to  the  most  distin 
guished  oratorical  prize  in  the  United  States. 
' 


That  evening,  directly  after  tea,  a  bent, 


192  DONALD  MARCY. 

scholastic  figure  might  have  been  seen 
walking  determinedly  up  College  Street,  on 
the  way  to  the  President's  house.  It  was 
Dr.  Fleet.  The  honor  of  half  a  century  of 
De  Courtney s  sat  upon  his  brow.  His  lips 
were  compressed  with  an  iron  will.  His 
thin  hand  was  clenched  at  his  side.  His 
deep-set  eyes  flashed  fire. 

Now,  as  he  turned  the  corner  to  the  Pres 
ident's  aristocratic  street,  he  came  hard 
against  another  scholarly  figure  coming  in 
the  opposite  direction.  It  was  the  President 
himself.  These  two  learned  men  bumped 
against  each  other,  and  recoiled  with  two 
highly  intellectual  bows. 

"  Baxter  !  "  cried  Dr.  Fleet. 

"  Why,  Fleet !  "  cried  the  President. 

"  I  was  on  my  way  to  tell  you  "  — 

"I  know  it,"  interrupted  the  President. 
"  I  was  just  coming  to  tell  you" 

"  How  the  —  how  did  you  happen  to  hear 
of  this  abominable  trick?"  exploded  the 
clergyman. 

"Hallowell  has  confessed.  He  came  to 
my  house  two  hours  ago,  confessed  the 
whole  business,  and  is  on  his  way  home  by 
the  night  express." 

"  He  knew  Harle  would  be  too  hot  to  hold 
him  !  "  cried  the  Kev.  Dr.  Fleet. 


A  NOBLE  FELLOW.  193 

"  Oh !  he 's  no  lamb,"  nodded  the  Presi 
dent  angrily.  "  A  fool  never  outwitted  the 
De  Courtney  committee." 

"  It 's  a  miserable  business !  "  said  Dr. 
Fleet. 

"  I  have  circulated  the  facts,"  said  the 
President.  "  They  will  be  all  over  the  uni 
versity  in  half  an  hour.  I  believe  I  '11  go 
with  you  and  congratulate  Marcy.  I 
should  n't  object  to  getting  there  before  the 
committee.  Marcy  is  a  promising  fellow. 
He  took  to  his  books  too  late  for  rank,  I  'm 
sorry  to  say,  but  he  has  it  in  him.  He  will 
be  heard  from,  some  day,  if  he  only  proves 
to  have  good  staying  qualities.  That 's  the 
thing,  after  all,  with  the  lads.  That  is 
what  decides,  —  hard  work,  and  keeping  at 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

<w 

HURRAH ! 

AFTER  Dr.  Fleet  had  gone  to  the  Presi 
dent's,  the  three  young  people  sat  down  in 
Donald's  study,  not  knowing,  altogether, 
how  to  treat  the  situation.  Donald  was 
very  much  excited,  and  kept  going  restlessly 
to  the  window  to  watch  for  Dr.  Fleet's  re 
turn.  He  did  not  feel  inclined  to  talk,  even 
to  Fay,  who  sat  with  her  bonnet  off,  reading 
a  New  York  evening  paper. 

"  This  panic  in  Wall  Street  is  growing 
serious,"  said  Fay,  breaking  a  long  silence. 

"  What  panic  ?  "  Don  started  and  came 
to  her,  holding  out  his  hand  for  the  paper. 
"  I  have  n't  looked  at  a  newspaper  for  three 
days,  I  've  been  so  given  over  to  drilling 
for  the  prize.  I  did  n't  know  there  was 
anything  out  of  the  common  run  in  Wall 
Street." 

•He  took  the  paper  which  Fay  handed  to 
him,  and  glanced  at  the  column  which  she 
had  folded  over  with  the  neatness  of  a  news 
paper-reading  girl. 


HURRAH!  195 

"  I  noticed  it,"  said  her  brother,  "  but  I 
thought  there  was  no  use  in  bothering  Don, 
just  at  this  crisis,  with  that  sort  of  thing. 
Nothing  serious,  is  it,  Don  ?  " 

"I  can't  tell,"  replied  Donald  thought 
fully.  "  So  many  of  these  things  blow  over. 
This  looks  as  if  it  might  do  some  mischief  — 
among  speculators.  I  see,  now ;  that 's  why 
father  did  n't  come  on.  He  could  n't  get  off. 
Father  will  be  very  much  excited  by  this. 
That  was  quite  a  scene  on  'Change  to-day. 
Father  does  n't  take  this  sort  of  thing  as 
coolly  as  he  used  to.  He  's  older,  I  suppose. 
There,  Miss  Fay,  there  's  your  father !  Upon 
my  soul,  J.,  Prexy  's  with  him  !  " 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  cried  Jamie. 

"  Put  that  pretty  blue  Persian  rug  under 
the  study-chair,"  suggested  Fay,  "  and  why 
don't  you  throw  that  piece  of  cashmere 
drapery  over  the  chair?  It  looks  a  little 
square  on  the  Japanese  table,  does  n't  it  ?  " 
Fay  fluttered  about  with  bright  cheeks, 
putting  pleasant  feminine  touches  to  the 
boys'  room,  while  the  distinguished  tread  of 
the  President  mounted  the  stairs. 

It  was  a  pretty  room,  —  Donald's  rooms 
always  were,  —  but  the  girl  herself  was  the 
prettiest  thing  in  it ;  and  the  President 


196  DONALD  MARCY. 

looked  as  if  he  thought  so,  when  her  father 
presented  him  to  her,  proudly  enough. 

"  So  this  is  the  young  lady  who  has  de 
tected  Harle  College  in  a  literary  blunder, 
is  it  ? "  smiled  the  President,  with  a  gal 
lant  bow  which  he  reserved  for  Commence 
ment  and  similar  emergencies.  "  I  am 
honored,  Miss  Fleet.  And  you,  sir," — he 
turned  to  Donald  hastily,  —  "I  came  on 
purpose  to  congratulate  you.  I  wish  you 
joy,  Marcy,  of  the  De  Courtney  prize.  (I 
promised  Mrs.  Baxter  I  'd  be  back  in  ten 
minutes ;  I  've  stolen  away  on  parole.  Our 
house  is  .full  of  De  Courtney  company.) 
You  did  yourself  credit,  sir,  to-day.  Your 
elocution  was  good,  and  your  material 
showed  careful  work.  I  congratulate  you, 
Marcy!" 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  sir,"  said  Don 
ald  modestly,  "  but  I  was  n't  going  to  tell." 

"You  didn't  tell,"  said  the  President 
shortly ;  "  a  higher  power  looks  after  such 
things.  It  is  taken  out  of  your  hands. 
The  honor  of  the  university  was  at  stake. 
Personal  scruples  have  to  surrender  to  pub 
lic  interest  sometimes.  Thank  you.  This 
is  a  delightful  chair.  I  am  quite  comfort 
able,  —  are  you,  Miss  Fleet  ?  That  's 


HURRAH!  197 

right.  1  think,"  added  the  President, 
turning  his  genial  face  toward  the  open  win 
dow,  and  keeping  one  keen  eye  on  the 
crowded  street,  —  "I  think  I  see  the  commit 
tee.  Marcy,  don't  I  ?  There 's  the  chair 
man  and  one  member  to  keep  his  courage 
up,  —  yes  ;  Dawson  and  Dawkins.  They  are 
after  you,  Marcy.  This  is  their  official 
recantation.  I  don't  know  that  I  envy 
them,"  murmured  the  President,  in  a  human 
outburst  of  confidence.  He  leaned  back 
against  the  cashmere  drapery  of  the  study- 
chair,  looking  as  Presidential  as  he  could  ; 
but  there  was  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  learned 
eye.  That  unfortunate  committee  did  not 
expect  to  find  the  President  there. 

This  was  evident  enough  when  they  came 
in.  Mr.  Dawson  was  a  minister,  and  Mr. 
Dawkins  was  a  judge.  The  respectability 
of  their  several  callings  sat  heavily  upon 
these  unlucky  gentlemen  just  then.  If  they 
had  only  been  fishmongers  or  tinsmiths, 
and  society  had  never  required  of  them  an 
intimate  acquaintance  with  Rufus  Choate  ! 
Gladly  would  they  have  been  old-clothes  men 
at  that  moment ;  if  so,  they  need  not  have 
been  amenable  candidates  for  that  omnis 
cience  which  is  the  least  that  is  required  of 


198  DONALD  MARCY. 

the  committee  sitting  upon  the  De  Courtney 
prize. 

When  they  had  explained  their  errand, 
which  they  did  as  if  they  were  in  a  hurry 
to  get  through  with  it  and  go  home,  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Dawson  officially  announced  to  Donald 
Marcy :  — 

"  Owing  to  the  dishonor  of  your  compet 
ing  rival,  proved  a  plagiarist  by  the  use  of 
material  recently  without  the  range  of  the 
committee's  reading,  and  the  commission 
of  shrewd  deceit  which  has  passed  the  de 
tection  of  all  the  authorities  of  Harle  Col 
lege,"  —  here  the  committee  glanced  grimly 
at  the  President,  —  "to  you,  Mr.  Marcy,  is 
hereby  tendered  the  unquestionable  posses 
sion  of  the  De  Courtney  prize  to-day  com 
peted  for." 

Donald  took  the  silver  medal  and  the 
hundred-dollar  gold  piece  of  the  great  De 
Courtney,  with  a  preternatural  solemnity. 
He  heard  Fay  suffocating  with  stifled  mer 
riment  behind  him.  The  twinkle  in  the 
Presidential  eye  had  grown  into  a  dignified 
luminary,  powerfully  suppressed.  The  cler 
gyman  and  the  honorable  judge  fidgeted. 

"  The      young     lady     seems     amused ! ! 
snapped  the  Rev.  Mr.  Dawson,  growing  quite 
red  in  the  face. 


HURRAH!  199 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon ! "  cried  Fay 
unexpectedly,  her  pretty,  girlish  treble 
breaking  upon  the  awkward  scene  like  sud 
den  dance  music.  "  O — o — oh,  I  can't  help 
it !  I  can't  help  laughing !  It  is  so  —  so  — 
so  — funny  !  " 

The  girl's  ringing  laugh  was  all  that  was 
wanted  to  set  the  dignity  of  the  occasion 
free.  The  President  joined  her,  laughing 
right  roundly.  The  boys  laughed  as  fast 
and  as  hard  as  they  dared.  The  committee, 
after  an  instant's  hesitation,  laughed  too ; 
and  all  the  discomfort  of  the  situation  was 
gone. 

"  We  're  all  in  about  the  same  box,  gen 
tlemen,"  said  the  President  politely.  "  This 
young  lady  has  the  laugh  on  us,  in  more 
senses  than  one.  I  think  the  best  we  can 
do  is  to  let  her  get  what  fun  there  is  out  of 
the  scrape,  and  laugh  with  her." 

And  laugh  they  did,  those  four  eminent 
men  and  three  young  people,  as  if  they  had 
all  been  boys  and  girls  together ;  and  Don 
ald  treated  them  to  ice-cream  and  sponge 
cake,  until  the  Rev.  Mr.  Dawson  and  Mr. 
Judge  Dawkins  were  well  cooled  off;  and 
thus  the  pulpit  and  the  bar  were  reconciled 
on  the  spot,  with  the  Higher  Education  of 
Woman. 


200  DONALD   MARCY. 

While  this  merry  scene  was  progressing 
in  Donald's  room,  he  was  attracted  by  an 
unusual  stir  on  the  green  and  in  the  street. 
College  songs  filled  the  summer  evening.  A 
heavily-increasing  chorus  of  young  voices 
rang  to  the  sky.  Harle  boys  sing  well,  and 
there  was  music  such  as  one  might  well  go  far 
to  hear  when  such  a  throng  as  that  was  out. 
The  swell  of  the  sound  pressed  nearer  and 
nearer.  The  boys  were  after  Marcy.  They 
were  singing  their  way  to  him  in  a  great 
troupe  :  — 

"  Oh,  ho !  I'd  give  my  eyes 
For  the  great  De  Courtney  prize, 

My  eyes  —  eyes  —  eyes 

For  the  prize  —  ize  —  ize, 
My  meerschaum  and  my  eyes 

For  the  prize ! 
Oh,  a  Junior  gay  I  'd  be, 

For  the  swell  De  Court — e — ney, 
De  Court — e — nee — ee — e  !  " 

"  Hark  !  "  said  Jamie  Fleet,  jumping  up, 
and  going  to  stand  beside  his  sister,  with 
a  pleasant  instinctive  motion  of  protection. 
"They  've  got  hold  of  it.  It's  all  out. 
Hear  that?" 

Slowly  and  sweetly,  to  the  plaintive  tune 
which  deals  with  the  death  of  the  celebrated 
"  Nelly,"  the  boys  began  to  sing :  — 


HURRAH!  201 

"Oh,  it  was  a  la— dy! 

Ruf  us  read,  she  did  —  she  did ! 
Rah !  it  was  a  la — dy  ! 

Took  the  trick.     She  did  ! 
Let  it  be  a  la — dy. 

Scorn  our  tricks,  she  may,  she  may ! 
Honor  to  the  la — dy ! 

In  Harle,  for  many  a  day !  " 

In  a  moment,  the  boys  of  Harle,  a  mass 
of  swaying,  surging,  young  humanity,  had 
rolled  up,  like  a  musical  wave,  to  South 
Middle  Hall,  and  there,  outside  of  Donald's 
low  windows,  they  came  to  a  halt,  and  called 
out  the  winner  of  the  De  Courtney.  All 
the  college  and  a  great  part  of  the  univer 
sity  were  there.  The  excitement  ran  high. 
The  details  of  the  story  had  got  out,  and  the 
boys'  enthusiasm  went  wild. 

"  Three  cheers  for  Marcy !  Three  more  ! 
Three  times  three  for  Marcy!  Three  for 
the  De  Courtney !  Three  more  for  the 
Cap'n  of  the  Junior  crew  !  Three  for  the 
'Varsity!  Rah!  Rah!  Rah!  for  Harle!  Rah! 
for  the  '  Varsity  !  A  speech  from  Marcy ! 
Speech !  Speech !  Speech !  Give  us  an  ora 
tion  !  Give  us  the  De  Courtney  over  again ! " 

Donald  stood  in  the  window,  with  bright 
eyes,  tossing  back  his  curls  with  his  strong, 
fine  hand.  His  glance  flashed  over  the  boys  ; 


202  DONALD  MARCY. 

who  would  have  thought  any  one  fellow 
could  count  so  many  friends  ?  Pressing  to 
the  front,  Trouncey  O'Grian's  huge  figure 
rose.  His  tremendous  lungs  challenged  the 
united  hurrah  of  half  the  class,  one  would 
almost  say  of  half  the  university.  Trouncey 
looked  as  if  one  prick  of  his  little  finger 
might  have  shaken  the  breath  out  of  Hallow- 
ell's  body.  Nonchalantly  leaning  against  an 
obliging  underclass  man  as  he  sang,  Lee 
Calhoun  stood  gracefully,  making  the  best 
of  the  occasion,  and  nothing  loath  to  do  it, 
either.  Donald's  Junior  crew  were  all  there, 
with  the  college  colors  flying  from  little  gold 
boat-hooks  upon  the  lapels  of  their  coats. 
George  Washington  Clay  sang  a  magnificent 
tenor,  trained  in  the  Fiske  Jubilee  chorus, 
and  cheered  as  agreeably  as  any  white  man. 
The  negro  student  was  fond  of  Marcy,  who 
had  always  treated  him  "like  anybody  else." 
Several  members  of  the  distinguished  Lit 
erary  Senior  Society,  to  which  Donald 
aspired,  were  in  the  front  ranks  of  the  cheer 
ing  boys.  Some  tutors  were  there,  Mr. 
Middleton  amongst  them,  and  the  Elocution- 
"ary  Professor  strolled  up  and  joined  the 
crowd.  Close  beside  Donald  stood  his  dear 
and  loyal  chum,  partly  shielding  precious 


HURRAH!  203 

Fay  from  the  observation  of  the  crowd.  Dr. 
Fleet,  and  the  President,  and  the  Eev. 
Mr.  Dawson,  and  Mr.  Judge  Dawkins,  all 
stood  up  when  the  boys  came,  and  looked 
over  Marcy's  shoulder,  smiling  good-na 
turedly.  It  was  the  proudest  moment  of 
Donald  Marcy's  young  and  happy  life.  He 
stood  very  modestly,  looking  about,  some 
thing  misty  gathering  in  his  sparkling  eyes. 
He  could  not  have  told  why  he  felt  so 
touched,  so  solemnized  by  all  that  hearty 
deference  to  a  success  which  he  knew  now 
(as  perhaps  he  had  never  really  understood 
before)  was  only  the  first  "round"  in  the 
long  contest  of  real  life. 

"  Boys,"  he  said  simply,  coming  forward, 
"  I  thank  you  for  all  your  good  wishes. 
I  understand  very  well  that  it  is  the  —  the 
unfortunate  accident  which  has  given  me  the 
prize  I  had  given  up  hoping  for,  that  creates 
so  much  interest  in  my  success.  I  don't 
take  it  to  myself,  for  I  don't  deserve  that. 
I  take  it  to  be  the  tribute  of  Harle  Univer 
sity  to  plain,  hard  work,  and  to  common, 
manly  honor,  such  as  Harle  trains  her  boys 
to  respect,  and  to  practice,  and  always  has, 
and  always  will.  Three  cheers  for  Harle  !  " 

Three   cheers  for  Harle  !     "  Kah  !   Rah  ! 


204  DONALD   MARCY. 

Rah  !  "  And  three  more  for  Marcy !  Three 
for  Prexy !  And  three  more  still ! 

How  the  young  lungs  pumped  out  the 
torrent  of  sound!  How  far  and  wide  the 
merry  voices  rang !  How  little  it  takes  to 
give  college  boys  a  glorious  time !  And 
how  gloriously  they  take  it,  when  they  get 
it! 

"  Mr.  Don,"  said  Fay,  in  a  whisper  at  his 
side,  "  you  ought  to  be  perfectly  happy." 

Donald  had  turned  his  handsome  head  to 
answer  her,  when  suddenly  a  new  cry  arose 
from  the  swaying,  shouting  mass.  The  fact 
that  the  plagiarism  had  been  detected  by  a 
lady,  and  a  young  lady  at  that,  was,  of 
course,  no  small  matter  to  the  fellows,  who 
are  always  keenly  observant  of  visiting 
young  ladies  at  college,  and  classify  them  in 
the  college  memory  with  a  swift,  critical 
stroke  that  amounts  to  divination.  Who  is 
pretty,  who  is  plain,  — that  is  matter  of 
course.  But  who  is  "  fast  "  or  modest,  who 
is  a  lady  or  not,  who  flirts  or  who  holds 
herself  at  delicate  feminine  values ;  who  is 
silly,  or  who  is  clever ;  who  is  superficially 
trained  for  society,  or  who  is  thoroughly 
educated,  —  these  are  the  vital  points.  All 
sorts  of  admiring  rumors  about  the  Smith 


HURRAH!  205 

College  girl,  who  had  outwitted  the  De 
Courtney  committee,  were  afloat  in  Harle. 
The  boys  knew  well  enough  that  the  girl  was 
in  that  room,  and  that  she  was  very  much 
protected  by  her  father  and  her  brother  and 
the  President  and  the  committee,  and  who 
knew  how  much  more  of  the  eminence  and 
"  position  "  of  Harle  ?  and  the  boys  were 
not  going  to  let  her  off  altogether. 

Vigorously  the  cry  arose  :  — 

"  The  young  lady !  The  young  lady ! 
Three  cheers  for  the  girl-graduate !  Three 
for  the  girl  who  cleaned  out  the  committee ! 
Hurrah  for  Miss  Fleet !  Hurrah !  Hurrah  !  " 


CHAPTER   XX. 

FAIK   AND   FREE. 

FAY  blushed  like  a  Jacqueminot  rosebud, 
and  shrank  quite  out  of  sight  behind  her  bro 
ther,  who  held  her  proudly.  Donald,  who 
could  not  touch  her,  looked  at  her  through  a 
divine  mist  in  his  young  eyes;  blind  with 
love,  and  delight,  and  adoration. 

"  I  think,"  said  Jamie  quietly,  "  you 
might  as  well  just  walk  past  the  window 
with  me,  Fay.  I  would  n't  seem  ashamed 
to  be  seen.  The  fellows  mean  all  right. 
It 's  awfully  nice  of  them.  I  am  here  — 
and  father  —  and  it  's  my  room,  and  you 
are  where  you  belong." 

Just  for  an  instant  there  flashed  before 
the  window  a  swift  vision  of  a  modest  girl, 
leaning,  blushing,  on  her  brother's  arm, 
and  then  — 

Fay  fluttered,  frightened,  out  of  sight 
upon  the  big  chair  with  the  cashmere 
drapery,  behind  the  towering,  awful  figure 
of  the  President  and  the  committee;  and 


FAIR  AND  FREE.  207 

the  boys  broke  into  a  magnificent  round 
of  applause,  and  one  fellow  moved  she  be 
made  an  honorary  member  of  the  class,  and 
this  motion  was  carried  with  three  times 
three,  and  it  was  a  tremendous  moment. 
Then  Trouncey  O'Grian's  big  voice  was 
heard,  calling  the  fellows  off. 

"  We  must  n't  bother  the  young  lady, 
boys."  But  at  the  moment  while  the  pha 
lanx  turned,  to  march  singing  down  the 
street,  a  little  bouquet  came  tossing  lightly 
in  and  dropped  at  Fay  Fleet's  feet.  It  was 
gracefully  done.  The  flowers  were  South 
ern  jonquils,  and  they  were  thrown  by  Lee 
Calhoun. 

Fay  was  to  go  to  Boston  that  night  with 
her  father,  on  her  way  to  Vermont.  Don 
ald  had  no  opportunity  now  to  see  her  alone. 

"  I  shall  come  up  this  vacation,"  he  said 
excitedly.  "  I  shall  be  sure  to  come,  —  if  I 
may?" 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you,"  murmured 
Fay,  with  some  timidity.  They  did  not 
talk  much  together.  Donald  ordered  the 
carriage,  and  they  all  rode  to  the  station, 
he  and  Jamie,  Dr.  Fleet  and  Fay.  The 
talk  was  general,  —  but  it  was  generally 


208  DONALD  MARCY. 

particular ;  about  the  young  people  and 
their  plans  and  hopes.  Jamie  with  the  val 
edictory  next  year,  God  willing  —  Donald 
and  his  De  Courtney  —  Fay  and  her  di 
ploma, —  they  were  a  hopeful,  merry  lot. 
They  spoke  of  the  school  in  Massachusetts 
which  Fay  would  take  in  September,  wherein 
she  would  "  cultivate  the  Greek  expression  " 
in  dead  earnest,  having  charge  of  the  Greek 
department.  They  spoke  of  Jamie's  longing 
to  follow  his  father's  profession,  "  if  he  could 
pull  through."  And  Donald  said  he  was 
to  have  money  when  he  became  of  age  next 
January,  and  that  he  'd  see  Jamie  through ; 
but  Jamie  shook  his  head ;  he  did  not  like 
a  debt,  he  said,  even  to  his  dear  old  Don. 
They  spoke  of  Don,  then,  and  of  his  future ; 
and  Donald  thought  he  should  study  for  the 
bar.  His  head  swam  with  visions  of  some 
day  rivaling  the  eminent  Rufus  Choate  him 
self,  and  being  cribbed  by  plagiarists  in 
Harle  University,  who  were  detected  by 
young  lady  visitors,  just  in  time  to  save  the 
honest  competitor  from  defeat,  and  the  un 
worthy  one  from  disgrace. 

Donald  wrung  Fay's  hand  in  silence  when 
they  parted  at  the  train.  She  had  dropped 
her  veil,  and  looked  at  him  through  it  with 


FAIR  AND  FREE.  209 

sweet,  bright  eyes,  that  fell  before  his  steady 
gaze.  And  Dr.  Fleet  said  :  — 

"  God  bless  you,  boys !  "  and  they  were 
gone. 

Don  and  Jamie  walked  home  together, 
not  inclined  to  talk.  The  fellows  were  still 
out  singing,  and  the  streets  stirred  rest 
lessly  ;  the  boys  were  singing  the  university 
chorus,  "  The  College  by  the  Sea." 

"  Oh,  the  college  by  the  sea ! 
Like  thy  waves,  thine  honor  be  ! 

Fair  and  free, 

Fair  and  free, 
Harle  !  Harle  !     Forever  —  ever  be  !  " 

Donald's  soul  thrilled  with  the  passion  of 
the  chorus,  with  the  college  loyalty  so  dear 
to  every  student's  heart. 

"  Bless  her,  anyhow,  J. !  "  he  cried.  "  I 
would  n't  miss  being  an  alumnus  of  old 
Harle  for  all  I  ever  expect  to  be  worth." 

As  the  two  boys  came  up  College  Street 
to  their  rooms,  which  were  probably  packed 
now  with  fellows,  waiting  for  them,  a  West 
ern  Union  Telegraph  boy  met  them,  walking 
quite  fast  —  for  a  messenger  boy.  He 
stopped,  and  touched  his  cap. 

"  A  dispatch  for  you,  Mr.  Marcy." 

Donald   took    the    yellow   envelope     lei- 


210  DONALD  MARCY. 

surely ;  lie  had  lived  a  life  in  which  a  tele 
gram  meant  nothing  in  particular  :  he  was 
laughing  at  something  his  chum  had  said, 
and  looked  the  very  dream  of  youth  and 
beauty,  and  health  and  wealth,  and  hope 
and  ambition,  as  he  cast  his  merry  eyes 
upon  the  paper,  and  read  aloud :  — 

"Misfortune  at  home.  Come  immedi 
ately." 

The  dispatch  was  signed  with  the  name  of 
an  uncle,  his  father's  brother :  "  Francis 
Marcy" 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

TERRIBLE   TROUBLE. 

IT  was  nearly  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning 
when  Donald  rang  the  bell  of  his  father's 
door,  in  Lexington  Avenue.  His  dreary 
journey  home  had  been  varied  by  the  pro 
tecting  presence  of  Jerry  McCarty,  who  had 
been  sent  on  special  business  to  New  York, 
by  the  chief  of  the  Harle  police.  There 
was  a  safe-robbery  case,  whereon  Jerry  was 
working  a  theory  involving  a  Sophomore 
with  a  doubtful  reputation  (Jerry's  theories 
seldom  advanced  beyond  the  Sophomore 
class),  and  Jerry  was  in  conmunication  with 
a  city  gang,  for  whom,  he  was  pleased  to 
believe,  the  Sophomore  had  acted  as  cat's- 
paw. 

Jerry  was  very  confidential  and  conver 
sational  with  Marcy  ;  and  Donald,  glad  to 
be  diverted  from  the  misery  into  which  the 
vague  alarm  of  his  uncle's  telegram  had 
plunged  him,  allowed  Jerry  to  be  as  friendly 
as  his  heart  could  desire.  Secretly,  Jerry 


212  DONALD  MARCY. 

was  fond  of  the  young  collegian,  as  every 
body  else  was,  and  lie  perceived  that  Marcy 
was  in  real  trouble.  The  policeman  re 
gretted  this.  He  tried  to  entertain  the  boy. 
He  treated  him  to  a  choice  selection  of  the 
most  blood-curdling  anecdotes  of  his  profes 
sion  ;  he  could  think  of  nothing  more  calcu 
lated  to  calm  the  mind  in  view  of  a  great 
domestic  affliction.  Jerry's  own  view  of 
the  case  was,  that  Mr.  T.  B.  Marcy  had 
embezzled  to  the  tune  of  half  a  million,  and 
gone  to  Canada. 

He  made  up  his  mind  to  this,  when  Don 
ald,  with  the  instinctive  confidence  of  a  lonely 
and  anxious  fellow,  showed  his  telegram  to 
the  big  policeman,  who  had  nabbed  him  and 
let  him  off  so  many  times  in  Freshman  and 
Sophomore  days,  and  toward  whom  he  had 
something  of  the  feeling  of  a  little  boy  to 
ward  an  old  family  coachman,  who  shook 
him  on  the  sly  for  unbuckling  the  harness. 

Donald  and  Jerry  did  not  take  the 
sleeper ;  Don  could  not  sleep  and  did  not 
want  to  ;  so  they  could  talk  on  the  train 
freely. 

Donald,  as  the  dawn  came  on,  began  to 
be  acutely  anxious  to  get  the  morning  paper. 

Jerry  began  to   be   equally  anxious  that 


TERRIBLE   TROUBLE.  213 

he  should  not.  As  they  approached  the 
suburbs  of  New  York,  Jerry  made  what  he 
thought  to  be  a  shrewd  effort  to  get  Don 
into  the  sleeper. 

"A  foive  -  minute  nap,  now,  Misther 
Marcy.  It  would,  beloike,  favor  ye  up  a  bit. 
I  '11  go  for'ard  and  bespake  yez  a  bunk. 
Ye  '11  need  a  wink  or  two,  sir,  not  knowin' 
whativer  's  loike  to  befall  yez.  This  here  's 
a  wurreld  of  sorproisin'  developmints,  Mr. 
Marcy,"  urged  Jerry  mysteriously.  "  An 
American  citizen,  Mr.  Don,  had  beloike  best 
be  prepared  to  fix  his  moind  on  any  —  well, 
on  any  part  of  the  map,  sir.  I  Ve  known 
affliction  to  take  a  geographical  turn  in  the 
first  of  families.  I  'd  advoise  ye  to  turn  in 
and  take  a  snooze,  agin  ye  're  ready  to  meet 
poor  luck.  I  '11  see  to  it,  that  naygur  of  a 
porter's  callin'  ye  in  airly  season." 

"  What  in  the  world  can  you  mean, 
Jerry  ?  "  asked  Donald,  with  a  stare.  He 
would  not  go  into  the  sleeper,  not  even  to 
please  Jerry  (who  made  the  matter  quite 
personal),  but  watched  feverishly  for  the 
chance  of  a  morning  paper,  which  Jerry  as 
restlessly  watched  to  head  off. 

"  Lave  it  to  me,  Mr.  Marcy,"  said  Jerry 
at  last,  with  good-natured  firmness.  "  There 


214  DONALD  MARCY. 

ain't  no  iiooz-boy  on  this  train  since  the  last 
one  jumped  off  too  late,  and  busted  his 
blamed  brains  out.  A  friend  of  me  own 
set  on  the  corrups,  so  I  happen  to  know. 
Ye  put  yer  two  fate  aboard  t'  other  sate 
here,  and  take  a  wink  settin',  and  I  'II  see 
the  first  paper  stroikin'  us  betune  here  and 
the  depot.  Thrust  me,  sir,"  said  Jerry 
solemnly. 

Worn  with  excitement  and  distress,  Don 
ald  yielded  like  a  child  to  the  big  police 
man's  stratagem,  and  did,  indeed,  fall  into  a 
few  minutes'  troubled  sleep.  In  that  snatch 
of  unconsciousness  the  train  slowed  up  at 
a  station,  where  a  very  minute  and  a  very 
ragged  newsboy,  with  a  bundle  of  papers 
as  large  as  himself,  innocently  attempted 
to  board  the  train.  His  surprise  was  keen 
when  he  felt  himself  collared  by  the  grip 
of  a  huge  policeman  disguised  in  citizen's 
dress  (the  little  newsboy  knew  the  general 
characteristics  of  the  grip  too  well  to  mis 
take  it),  and  landed  on  a  sand-heap  over 
a  fence,  with  his  papers.  As  the  train 
steamed  off,  a  silver  quarter  came  following 
after,  and  the  astonished  vender  of  news 
perceived  the  policeman  leisurely  employed 
upon  the  platform  in  reading  the  headings  of 


TERRIBLE   TROUBLE.  215 

a  copy  of  the  New  York  "  Daily  Telephone 
and  Cable"  as  rapidly  as  a  somewhat  limited 
education  would  allow  him  ;  and  then,  with 
out  ado,  he  made  a  hard  ball  of  that  paper, 
flung  it  after  the  boy  and  the  quarter,  and 
disappeared  within  the  car. 

"  I  'm  sorry,  Mr.  Marcy,"  said  Jerry, 
"  but  there  ain't  a  doosed  paper  to  be  got 
aboard  this  blarsted  train.  The  corruporra- 
tion  had  ought  to  be  subject  to  a  sheriff's 
writ  for  it." 

Jerry  McCarty  sat  down  by  the  restless 
lad.  His  face  was  grave,  it  might  almost 
be  called  agitated.  In  his  big,  blundering 
heart  he  was  thinking  :  — 

"  How  shall  I  tell  him  ?  How  ever  shall 
I  tell  the  boy?" 

In  twenty  minutes  —  fifteen  —  ten  —  five 
—  they  would  be  in  the  Grand  Central 
Depot.  All  the  police  force  of  Harle  could 
not  keep  the .  popular  Junior  from  reading 
the  details  of  his  terrible  sorrow,  blazoned 
in  alliterative  capitals,  from  scores  of  news 
papers.  Why,  every  newsboy  two  feet  high 
would  be  bellowing  the  thing  in  Marcy 's 
shrinking  ears  before  he  could  put  one  hand 
in  his  pocket  for  the  nickel,  or  take  the  first 
paper  he  could  clutch  in  the  other.  He 


216  DONALD  MARCY. 

would  call  for  the  "  Daily  Telephone  and 
Cable,"  the  great  newspaper  of  which  his 
uncle,  Mr.  Francis  Marcy,  was  business 
manager.  The  cold  drops  began  to  start  on 
Jerry's  broad,  shrewd,  kindly  face.  Speak 
he  must ;  speak  he  had  got  to.  Jerry  felt 
himself  in  a  terrible  position.  The  delicate 
duty  of  breaking  a  young  heart  with  awful 
•  tidings  had  never  fallen  to  Jerry  before.  It 
seemed  to  him  then  that  he  would  rather 
face  a  mob  single-handed,  or  sit  on  a  body- 
snatching  case  alone  at  midnight  in  a  grave 
yard. 

"How  ever  shall  I  tell  him?  Howly 
Mother  help  him  —  sich  a  loikely  lad !  " 

Five  minutes  —  three  —  two  • — 

"  Well,  here  we  are,"  said  Donald,  getting 
to  his  feet,  valise  in  hand,  and  coat  upon  his 
arm. 

"  Mr.  Marcy,  sir,"  said  Jerry,  trembling, 
"  I  Ve  that  to  tell  yez  as  I  'd  prefer  to  lave 
to  some  member  of  the  New  York  force. 
They  're  used  to  it,  may  be.  I  ain't.  May  be 
if  I  'd  had  an  eddication,  I  should  n't  be  so 
put  about,  —  if  I  'd  had  a  college  course  my 
self,  sir,  sich  as  I  'm  manin'  to  give  me  boy 
as  is  at  present  in  the  grammar  school,  —  it 
would  larn  me  how." 


TERRIBLE   TROUBLE.  217 

But  there,  trained  only  by  the  school  of 
his  own  kind  heart  and  busy  life  educated 
in  human  tragedies,  Jerry  McCarty  turned 
abruptly,  and  looked  the  gentleman's  son  in 
the  startled  eye. 

"  Yer  f ayther  hain't  gone  to  Canady,  Mr. 
Marcy.  He  's  dead  !  He  dropped  in  Wall 
Street,  on  '  Change,  —  bein'  that  overset  by 
the  panic,  —  and  I  've  got  to  tell  ye,  for 
somebody  must.  These  college  men,"  said 
Jerry,  with  emotion,  "  would  tell  it  in  more 
larned  language.  There  ain't  one,"  choked 
Jerry,  "  would  feel  so  bad  to  do  it.  Why, 
sir,  the  toimes  I  've  nabbed  ye,  and  you 
only  a  Freshman,  that  young,  and  never 
treated  me  to  an  uncivil  wurred ;  an'  I  've 
seen  ye  lift  yer  cap  to  me,  as  if  I  was  a 
gintleman,  yer  currels  blowin'  an'  yer  eyes 
a-laughin',  —  an'  ivery  toime  I  arrested  of 
ye  I  liked  ye  better  for  it;  an'  now  to  be  the 
one  to  hit  ye  with  a  blamed,  brutal  piece  of 
news  like  this  "  — 

"  Would  you  mind  coming  along  in  the 
horse-car  with  me,  Jerry?"  asked  Donald 
faintly.  "  Don't  speak.  Don't  say  a  word. 
Only  I  think  I  should  feel  better  to  have 
somebody  by  I  know.  See,  Jerry  ?  I  don't 


218  DONALD  MARCY. 

—  I  don't  seem  to  feel  very  old,  Jerry,"  fal 
tered  the  boy. 

Like  a  little  fellow  he  took  his  old  friend's 
burly  arm ;  and,  as  if  he  had  been  a  little 
fellow,  Jerry  led  him,  in  silence,  to  his  fa 
ther's  door. 

The  butler  let  him  in  without  a  word. 
The  great  house  was  still.  The  parlors 
were  shrouded  in  white  linen  for  the  sum 
mer,  preparatory  to  the  family's  annual 
flight  to  Newport.  His  father,  kept  by  busi 
ness,  was  accustomed  to  stay  much  alone  in 
the  deserted  house,  cared  for  only  by  the 
laundress,  while  the  invalid  and  extravagant 
wife  presided  over  the  Newport  villa,  and 
the  laughing  son  yachted  or  flirted  here  and 
there.  Donald  had  never  thought  much 
about  it  before.  It  must  have  been  lonely 
enough.  Oh,  poor  father  ! 

Donald  took  off  his  straw  hat,  gave  his 
valise  to  the  butler,  and  looked  about,  dazed 
and  trembling. 

"  He  's  in  the  library,  Mr.  Don,"  said  the 
butler,  hesitating. 

"  How  is  my  mother,  Perkins  ?  "  asked 
Don,  trying  to  command  himself. 

"  There  's  three  of  'em  with  her,  sir  ;  be 
sides  the  nurse  and  the  new  maid." 


TERRIBLE   TROUBLE.  219 

"Three  what?" 

"  Doctors,  sir.  She  's  that  bad.  She  's 
been  goin'  on  all  night.  We  could  n't, 
none  of  us,  get  a  wink  of  sleep,"  added  Per 
kins,  in  an  aggrieved  tone.  "  She  would  n't 
see  you,  sir.  The  doctor's  orders  are  per- 
em£ory.  She  's  had  highsterics  and  coiiwul- 
sions  complicated." 

"  Is  my  uncle  here,  Perkins  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  He  left  word  you  was  to  call 
at  his  house,  if  you  wanted  to  see  him  before 
night.  He  can't  get  off  till  then.  He  is 
very  busy.  The  paper  is  much  occupied,  sir, 
with  the  panic.  He  '11  be  over  after  din 
ner." 

"  Who  is  there  to  see?  "  pleaded  Donald, 
with  trembling  lip.  The  butler  shook  his 
head. 

"  There  's  him,  sir.  I  don't  know  of  no 
body  else,  unless  you  was  to  want  an  inter 
view  with  the  undertaker.  I  don't  think 
you  'd  care  to  meet  the  new  maid,  sir." 

"  Take  me,"  said  Donald,  in  a  shaking 
voice,  —  "  take  me  to  him  !  " 

Perkins  preceded  his  young  master  with 
a  silent  bow,  and  noiselessly  pushed  open 
the  library  door.  The  shades  were  drawn. 
The  room  was  dark,  and  its  curious  chill 


220  DONALD  MARCY. 

struck  to  Donald's  heart.  In  the  centre  of 
the  solemn  place  lay  stretched  the  only 
thing  there  was  to  welcome  Donald  to  his 
father's  house. 

"  Shut  the  door,  Perkins,"  faltered  the 
boy.  "  You  may  go.  Leave  me  alone  — 
with  my  father." 

The  funeral  was  over.  The  last  things 
were  all  done.  All  the  little  touches  with 
which  love  cheats  itself  by  trying  to  serve 
the  darling  dead,  and  to  make  believe  that 
it  is  of  any  use,  had  been  given.  The  last 
kiss  had  been  dropped  upon  the  icy  brow. 
The  last  flower  had  been  slipped  into  the 
unresponsive  hand.  The  last  tear  had 
scalded  the  dear  face.  Donald  had  listened 
with  blind  eyes  to  the  dirge,  and  with  chok 
ing  breath  to  the  prayer,  and  commanded 
himself  as  best  he  could,  and  sat  by  his 
uncle,  silently,  and  they  had  driven  home, 
and  Mr.  Francis  Marcy  had  said,  in  a  busi 
ness-like  tone,  but  not  untenderly  :  — 

"  Well,  Donald,  I  will  come  this  evening, 
and  we  '11  talk  things  out.  It 's  got  to  be 
done.  The  sooner  the  better.  I  '11  do  my 
duty  by  you." 

And    Donald    had    thanked    his    uncle, 


TERRIBLE    TROUBLE.  221 

vaguely  wondering  what  he  meant,  and  had 
come  into  the  desolate  house,  and  was  con 
sidering  what  to  do  next,  when  Perkins  told 
him  that  his  mother  wished  to  see  him  in 
her  room.  Don  had  seen  his  mother  once 
or  twice,  but  she  had  been  too  ill  to  speak  to 
him.  A  vision  of  a  haggard  face  upon  a 
lace  pillow,  the  feeble  motion  of  a  frail 
hand,  as  if  he  stood  between  her  and  the  air, 
—  a  fainting  turn,  and  another,  and  then 
another,  —  such  had  been  the  meeting  be 
tween  the  widow  and  the  fatherless  lad. 
Now  she  was  calmer,  and  he  must  go  up  to 
her.  He  dreaded  it. 

Donald  did  not  feel  that  he  knew  his 
mother  very  well ;  he  had  nothing  against 
her  ;  she  had  always  treated  him  kindly ;  but 
when  he  was  a  little  boy  he  passed  his  life 
with  nurses,  and  when  he  became  a  big 
one,  he  was  sent  away  to  school.  She  had 
always  been  a  sick  woman,  —  and  a  really 
sick  one,  —  but  she  did  not  know  how  to 
lighten  the  load  of  her  sufferings  as  it  fell 
upon  her  family  ;  she  was  not  one  of  the 
invalid  mothers  to  whom  many  a  big,  well, 
restless  boy  owes  the  tenderest  memories, 
and  the  sweetest  restraints,  and  the  highest 
inspirations  of  his  robust  life.  Such  as  she 


222  DONALD   MARCY. 

was,  she  would  remain.  Grief  was  not 
likely  to  work  a  miracle  upon  such  a  nature, 
at  such  an  age.  Such  as  she  was,  Donald 
must  accept  the  burden,  bear  it  filially,  and 
find  out  how  to  adjust  his  undisciplined, 
young  life  to  it. 

He  was  thinking  of  this  as  he  climbed  the 
heavily-carpeted,  soundless  stairs,  to  his  mo 
ther's  room.  He  had  never  borne  any  real 
responsibility.  The  training  of  the  class 
crew  was  the  heaviest  he  had  known. 

The  new  maid  (a  pretty  girl,  probably 
distasteful  to  Perkins  because  she  preferred 
the  coachman)  let  her  master  into  his  mo 
ther's  boudoir.  The  old  nurse,  Maria,  who 
greeted  him  familiarly,  having  admitted  him 
to  that  room  in  short  trousers  and  long 
curls,  preceded  him  across  the  familiar  daz 
zle  of  the  blue  and  gold  drapery,  bric-a-brac, 
and  mirrors,  to  the  shaded  bedroom  where 
the  invalid,  in  a  foam  of  lace  and  sachet, 
lay  upon  an  Oriental  couch  of  many  colors, 
examining  samples  of  black  crape. 

"  Good-morning,  mother !  "  said  the  boy, 
struggling  with  himself.  "  I  hope  you  feel 
a  little  better?" 

For  answer,  the  sick  woman  burst  into  a 
flood  of  tears,  and  for  some  moments  sobbed 
convulsively. 


TERRIBLE   TROUBLE.  223 

"He  was  my  soul's  other  half!"  she 
wailed.  "I  am  bereft  of  all  that  I  ever 
loved  or  lived  for." 

Now  Donald  had  a  certain  impression 
that  his  father  and  mother  had  never  been 
romantically  attached  to  each  other,  at  least 
since  his  acquaintance  with  them,  and  that 
the  most  harmonious  sympathy  was  hardly 
familiar  to  their  relation.  He  therefore 
heard  his  mother's  passionate  outcry  with 
some  surprise,  but  was  wise  enough  to  say 
nothing  about  it. 

"Except,  of  course,  my  son,"  added  the 
invalid,  as  an  afterthought ;  "  you  are  my  all 
in  all  now,  Donald." 

"Thank  you,  mother,"  said  Don,  with 
trembling  lip.  It  was  a  pallid  sort  of  home- 
love  ;  but  he  felt  profoundly,  at  that  mo 
ment,  that  it  was  all  he  had,  and  that  he 
must  live  for  it  dutifully  and  faithfully. 

"  I  shall  try  to  be  as  much  comfort  as  I 
can,  mother,"  he  added,  looking  with  real 
tenderness  at  her  haggard  face.  "  You 
must  teach  me.  You  must  tell  me  all  I  can 
do  for  you.  I  hope  I  shall  be  a  better  son 
than  I  used  to  be." 

"  Your  uncle  is  keeping  something  back," 
said  Mrs.  Marcy  abruptly. 


224  DONALD   MARCY. 

"  What  about  ?  "  asked  Don. 

He  had  had  no  conversation  with  his 
uncle  yet,  except  about  the  details  of  his 
father's  death.  They  were  few  enough.  In 
the  height  of  the  panic  he  had  dropped,  at  a 
little  past  two  o'clock,  just  as  he  was  leaving 
Wall  Street  to  come  home.  He  was  quite 
dead  when  they  picked  him  up.  The  doc 
tor  called  it  heart  disease,  and  if  anybody 
said  anything  more,  Don  had  never  heard  it. 

"  It  's  my  belief,"  said  Mrs.  Marcy,  "  that 
your  father  has  lost  very  heavily." 

Donald  had  not  thought  of  such  a  thing, 
and  he  said  so,  starting  with  surprise. 

"  I  never  was  well  enough  to  discuss  busi 
ness,"  sobbed  the  widow.  "  Your  father 
never  confided  in  me.  But  my  intuitions 
are  very  keen.  I  am  not  to  be  deluded,  Don. 
You  will  find  there  have  been  losses.  It  is 
very  unfortunate  —  in  my  state.  My  ways 
of  living  are  merely  the  conditions  of  exist- L 
ence  to  me,  —  no  more.  Remove  them,  and 
I  should  die  in  three  months." 

"  It  can't  be  very  serious,  mother,"  urged 
Donald,  not  without  a  secret  anxiousness 
perfectly  new  to  him.  "  Don't  distress 
yourself.  I  will  see  Uncle  Francis  to-night, 
and  talk  it  all  over.  Never  fear,  mother. 


TERRIBLE   TROUBLE.  225 

You  shall  be  looked  after,  at  all  events. 
I  '11  take  care  of  you !  " 

"  I  shall  have  to  go  to  Newport,  anyway" 
wept  Mrs.  Marcy.  "You  know  I  should 
not  live  the  summer  out,  in  any  other  air. 
Then  there's  Dr.  Hellingpfeiffer's  annual 
fee ;  the  sum  your  father  always  has  paid 
him  gives  me  a  claim,  a  priority.  I  secure 
his  services  by  the  year,  and  he  is  always  to 
be  had  when  my  attacks  come  on.  It  would 
be  impossible  to  economize  on  the  doctor. 
Oh,  what,  what  will  become  of  me  ?  "  she 
wailed. 

"  Don't  cry,  mother.  Don't  you  fear. 
1  7£  look  after  you,"  repeated  Donald  man 
fully.  But  his  eye,  warned  by  a  sudden 
new  intelligence,  traveled  around  the  sick 
room,  whose  luxurious  appointments  were  so 
much  a  matter  of  course  to  him  that  he  had 
never  given  a  thought  to  them  before,  in  all 
his  life.  The  heavy  velvet  carpet ;  the  ex 
pensive  patent  springs  on  the  doors  to  pre 
vent  a  slam,  or  jar,  or  creak ;  the  long,  satin 
draperies,  hanging  from  the  great,  plate - 
glass  windows,  like  the  trains  of  princesses ; 
the  exquisite  shades  for  shielding  the  eyes ; 
the  fold  upon  fold  of  satin  and  "  real "  lace 
covering  the  bed,  the  pillows,  the  couch,  and 


226  DONALD  MARCY. 

the  nightdress  of  the  invalid  which  showed 
becomingly*  beneath  her  embroidered  sack ; 
the  eider-down  robes,  silk-covered,  used  as 
freely  as  less  wealthy  people  use  blankets  ; 
the  inlaid  invalid's  tray  and  table  ;  the  sil 
ver  and  Sevres  upon  it ;  the  high-waged 
figure  of  Maria  in  the  doorway;  the  new 
maid  in  the  other  room,  dusting  a  statuette 
by  a  fashionable  sculptor,  with  a  brush  of 
peacock's  feathers.  At  these  things  Donald 
looked  with  a  sick  sinking  at  the  heart. 
What  did  it  all  mean  ?  How  bad  was  it  ? 
And  what  worse  was  to  come  ? 

He  waited  restlessly  for  his  uncle,  who 
came  after  dinner,  and,  locking  the  library 
door,  and  lighting  a  cigar,  began  at  once, 
with  the  manner  of  a  man  who  has  a  hard 
job  on  hand,  and  means  to  get  it  over  with. 

Mr.  Francis  Marcy  was  a  gentlemanly 
man  ;  polished,  cold,  calm,  hard  of  face,  and 
unmoved  in  manner. 

"  Well,  Donald,  I  have  purposely  put  off 
this  interview  till  the  funeral  was  over. 
It  was  more  decent,  for  one  thing.  Then  I 
didn't  care  to  worry  you,  until  it  became 
necessary.  It  has  now  become  so.  You  ob 
serve  that  there  has  been  no  will  read.  It 
is  customary  not  to  read  the  will  till  after 
the  services." 


TERRIBLE   TROUBLE.  227 

"  I  did  n't  know  that,  sir.  I  did  n't  know 
much  about  —  such  things.  I  never  —  no 
body  ever  died  that  I  cared  about,  before." 

His  voice  faltered.  His  uncle  bowed 
slightly,  as  if  he  should  say :  "  Very  proper. 
An  appropriate  filial  sentiment."  But  all 
that  he  really  did  say  was  this  :  — 

"  Your  father  left  no  will.  He  had  no 
thing  to  will.  He  has  left  no  property." 

Donald  started,  with  a  low,  horrified  cry. 

"  Oh,  is  it  so  bad  as  that  ?   Poor  mother  !  " 

"  It  is  worse  than  that,  sir  !  Your  father 
speculated.  He  scattered  it  to  the  four 
winds.  He  has  been  deep  in  for  two  years. 
This  panic  simply  ruined  him.  He  died  of 
the  shock,  —  and  he  died  a  beggar,  —  and 
he  knew  it.  Poor  Thomas,"  added  Mr. 
Francis  Marcy,  bringing  his  short,  sharp 
sentence  round  to  a  decorous  sigh,  "  was 
always  a  schemer  and  a  dreamer.  He  dared 
too  much.  It  was  his  way.  He  lacked  bal 
last  —  in  business  matters.  But  de  mortuis 
—  poor  Thomas  has  gone.  You  and  your 
mother  are  left.  You  have  not  got  at  this 
moment,  sir,  three  hundred  dollars  to  your 
name." 

"  But,  my  mother  ?  "  gasped  Don.  "  The 
house  ?  The  —  the  maid  ?  The  doctor  ? 
Where  can  my  mother  live  ?  " 


228  DONALD  MARCY. 

"  The  house  is  mortgaged  over  its  eaves," 
replied  Uncle  Francis.  "  The  Newport  es 
tate  may  be  deeded  to  her,  —  but  I  doubt  it. 
I  have  n't  found  any  such  papers  yet.  Your 
father  left  certain  papers  to  my  charge.  I 
should  have  been  administrator,  if  there  had 
been  anything  to  administrate  upon.  There 
is  n't." 

'  "  I  must  leave  college,  Uncle  Francis," 
faltered  Donald.  "I  must  leave  college," 
he  repeated  decisively.  "I  must  go  right 
to  work.  I  must  support  my  mother  and 
myself." 

"  I  don't  see  any  other  way,"  returned 
Mr.  Francis  Marcy.  "  I  'm  sorry,  Donald," 
he  added  politely. 

"  What  in  the  world  can  I  do  ?  "  gasped 
Donald.  "  I  never  earned  any  money  in 
my  life.  I  thought  —  when  I  had  graduated 
—  I  should  enter  the  bar.  I  meant  to  be  a 
distinguished  lawyer,  Uncle  Francis." 

"  Well,"  said  his  uncle  slowly,  knocking 
the  ashes  from  his  half-burnt  cigar  lightly 
into  an  antique  Egyptian  cup  that  served 
for  an  ash-receiver,  upon  the  carved  oak 
mantel ;  "  there  are  different  views  about 
that.  I  '11  tell  you  what  mine  are,  if  you 
care  to  hear  them." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"I   WILL   WAIT." 

IT  was  a  July  day  in  Vermont.  The  sun 
had  been  far  too  hot  for  comfort  all  the 
morning,  and  until  well  past  noon ;  and 
when  the  long  shadows  from  Mount  Tipton 
stole,  with  purple  feet,  across  the  valley,  the 
village  drew  breath,  and  began  to  put  on 
its  afternoon  dress,  and  was  glad  of  it.  The 
farmhouses  —  prisons  when  winter-bound  — 
were  palaces  of  life  in  the  heart  of  sum 
mer.  To  them  was  given  such  pomp  of  the 
shadow-chased  hills,  and  such  glory  of  the 
clover-crimsoned  fields,  and  such  splendor 
of  the  throbbing  skies,  as  the  stifling  towns 
panted  for,  and  paid  the  best  of  prices  to 
procure.  Each  of  these  desolate  homes  was 
now  a  thriving  house  of  entertainment,  where 
the  daughters  of  the  house  stood  no  more 
breathing  the  frost  off  the  windows  to  see  a 
stranger  pass,  but  blossomed  in  the  crispest 
of  colored  cotton-satine  gowns,  with  fresh 
crimps,  and  white  aprons,  to  wait  on  the 


230  DONALD  MARCY. 

supper-table  of  a  busy,  chattering,  laughing 
house.  The  most  popular  boarding-house 
in  town  was  Mrs.  Joe  Jouncey's  of  toboggan 
memory,  and  Lamentations  took  the  lady 
boarders  out  every  day  up  and  down  the  fern- 
clad  banks  of  the  mountain-trout  brooks,  at 
fifty  cents  an  hour. 

Mr.  Jasper,  the  proprietor  of  The  Hack, 
was  much  exercised  in  his  mind  that  after 
noon.  The  minister  had  a  guest  that  morn 
ing,  arrived  by  the  night  express,  who  had 
declined  to  patronize  The  Hack. 

"  He  said  he  could  n't  afford  it,"  com 
plained  Mr.  Jasper  to  the  postmistress.  "  A 
likely  story !  Him  not  affordin'  anything. 
He  walked  all  the  way  up,  on  his  two  legs ; 
just  as  if  he  'd  grow'd  here." 

"  In  this  blazing  sun !  "  reproved  the 
postmistress.  "  That  boy,  who  never  had  a 
stroke  of  hardship  in  his  life  !  And  poplar 
as  he  was  in  Tipton  !  I  sh'd  like  to  know 
why  you  let  him,  Jarsper,  /  should  !  " 

"  Why,  I  never  thought  on  't !  "  gasped 
the  proprietor  of  The  Hack.  "  It  never 
came  into  my  head  to  offer  him  The  Hack. 
I  don't  believe  he  'd  have  put  foot  in  Her, 
more  'n  if  I  'd  horsewhipped  him.  He  had 
that  look.  I  would  n't  ha'  darst." 


"7  WILL   WAIT."  231 

It  was  now  well  on  in  the  afternoon,  and 
Donald  and  Fay  were,  for  the  first  time, 
alone  together.  They  had  chatted  with  the 
family,  of  surface  things,  all  day.  Don  had 
not  said  much  about  his  circumstances  or 
his  plans.  Nobody  had  felt  like  asking  for 
what  he  did  not  offer.  He  had  petted  the 
cannibal  cat ;  and  shaken  hands  with  the  lit 
tle  maid,  and  inquired  after  her  elbows ;  and 
had  gone  out  to  feed  Old  William ;  and  he 
had  wandered  about,  and  thought  how  de 
lightful  the  parsonage  was  without  wood- 
boxes  ;  and  he  had  gone  upstairs  to  his  old 
room,  and  gloried  at  the  absence  of  the  air 
tight  stove,  and  felt  dazed  at  the  transfor 
mation  from  the  frozen  water-pitcher  to  the 
English  violets  on  the  toilet  -  table ;  from 
the  frosted  to  the  open  window,  from  all  the 
austerities  and  sterilities  of  the  Vermont 
winter,  to  the  tenderness  and  the  warm, 
rich,  abundant  life  of  the  mountain  mid 
summer. 

Then  he  had  come  down  and  looked  at 
the  new  books  in  Dr.  Fleet's  study  a  little 
while,  and  sat  by  Mrs.  Fleet's  sewing-chair, 
at  her  feet,  like  a  son,  while  she  mended  a 
rip  in  a  glove  he  felt  he  could  not  afford  to 
throw  away  ;  and  everybody  had  been  ten- 


232  DONALD  MARCY. 

der  as  "  own  folks  "  to  him  ;  but  no  one  had 
intruded  on  his  sorrows  or  his  anxieties,  and 
they  had  talked  a  good  deal  about  Jamie, 
and  wished  that  he  were  there,  and  Don  had 
said  that  J.'s  letters  had  been  the  greatest 
comfort  of  his  life,  since  —  since  —  But 
there  he  had  broken  off,  and  asked  Fay 
abruptly,  if  she  felt  like  walking  down  into 
the  orchard  with  him.  And  here,  at  last, 
they  were. 

Fay  was  charming  that  day,  —  she  was 
simply  charming.  There  is,  perhaps,  no  bet 
ter  or  more  womanly  word  to  tell  the  kind 
of  sweetness,  of  delightfulness,  that  belongs 
to  a  girl  like  Fay.  She  was  so  quiet,  —  in 
deference  to  Don's  sorrow,  —  yet  she  was  so 
cheerful,  to  put  him  at  his  ease  ;  she  was  so 
modest,  yet  she  was  so  frank  and  friendly ; 
she  had  such  girlish  cheeks,  yet  she  had  such 
deep,  intelligent  eyes ;  she  laughed  so,  and 
yet  she  looked  so  —  Donald  felt  as  if  he 
were  caught  in  an  undertow  of  loveliness, 
and  carried  off  his  feet. 

She  had  on  a  white  dress.  How  divine 
she  was  in  that  white  dress  !  It  was  thin,  but 
not  too  thin ;  her  round  arms  just  gleamed 
through  the  sheer  sleeves ;  the  lace  came 
modestly  to  her  soft  throat ;  she  wore  wide, 


"/  WILL  WAIT."  233 

blue  ribbons  at  the  neck  and  waist,  and  lit 
tle  loops  of  narrow  blue  tied  the  front  of  the 
dress,  and  tossed  with  the  wearer's  light 
breath.  Don  had  never  seen  her  in  the  halo 
of  summer-robes  before ;  she  seemed  to  shine 
and  melt  before  him  like  something  from  a 
finer  world  than  his. 

Fay  sat  down  on  an  old  apple-stump, 
carved  by  Jamie  into  a  rustic  seat,  and  Don 
ald  threw  himself  upon  the  grass  at  her  feet. 
The  sunlight  came  through  the  apple-leaves, 
a  flickering,  fluttering  sheen,  like  moving 
water,  and  played  upon  the  two  young  peo 
ple,  —  over  the  girl's  white  dress,  over  the 
boy's  earnest,  upturned  face.  It  had  grown 
older,  that  handsome  face ;  it  had  grown  five 
years  older  since  Fay  saw  it  last,  five  weeks 
ago. 

"Now,"  she  said,  in  her  decided  voice, 
"  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  Well,"  answered  Donald,  "  it  's  soon 
told,  Miss  Fay.  It  is  just  as  I  wrote  you, 
only  worse.  Father  did  n't  leave  a  cent  — 
of  all  his  money.  It  's  gone.  It 's  all  gone. 
I  am  as  poor  as  the  bootblack  in  the  depot. 
I  have  a  sick  and  expensive  mother.  I  've 
got  to  support  her  and  myself,  and  I  've  got 
to  do  it  right  away»  That  's  the  upshot  of 


234  DONALD  MARCY. 

it.  Of  course,  I  've  got  to  leave  Harle. 
That  's  the  worst  of  it." 

"  Cruel !  "  cried  Fay  impulsively. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  The  grave,  sweet  smile  of  his 
new  maturity  lighted  the  face  of  the  thought 
less  lad.  "  It  's  hard,  but  it  's  only  what 
lots  of  other  fellows  have  to  do.  I  've  never 
had  anything  before,  —  anything  to  do,  or 
bear,  or  be.  I  've  always  got  what  I  wanted. 
I  've  had  plenty  of  money.  I  never  knew 
what  it  was  to  be  thwarted  in  anything  I 
cared  about,  before.  It  had  got  to  come. 
It  's  life"  said  the  young  man  stoutly. 
"  I  'm  only  beginning  to  find  it  out.  /  can 
get  along,  but  I  declare,  Miss  Fay,  I  don't 
see  how  under  the  heavens  I  am  going  to 
provide  for  mother.  Poor  mother !  She 
needs  so  many  things.  She 's  so  —  so  —  she 's 
so  extravagantly  sick.  Not  that  I  blame 
my  mother,"  he  added  loyally.  "  She  can't 
help  it.  She  's  always  had  them.  She  suf 
fers  a  great  deal.  It  takes  the  maid,  and 
the  nurse,  and  the  doctor  to  keep  her  up 
anyhow." 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  cried  Fay. 

"  It  can't  be  helped,"  said  the  young  man 
dully.  A  desperate  look  came  over  his  up 
lifted  eyes  ;  he  turned  them  away  from  her. 


"/  WILL  WAIT:'  235 

"  It  is  going  to  be  a  terrible  pull,  and  a 
long  one,"  lie  said  significantly.  Fay  flushed 
slightly. 

"  Never  mind,"  she  said  softly ;  "  she  is 
your  mother.  Do  your  best.  You  won't  be 
sorry.  Why  in  the  world  does  n't  your 
uncle  help  you  ?  " 

"  He  has  offered  me  a  place  on  the  paper. 
I  wrote  you,  did  n't  I  ?  He  says  that  's  all 
he  can  do." 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  n't  decided.  I  came  up  here  to 
decide.  I  wanted  your  advice.  I  spent  fif 
teen  of  the  last  thirty  dollars  I  have  in  the 
world  to  get  here.  I  don't  dare  let  Uncle 
Francis  know  I  'm  here.  But  I  had  to  come. 
Lord  knows  when  I  shall  ever  even  get  the 
money  to  see  your  face  again  !  " 

The  poor  boy  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes, 
and  turned  his  face  over  on  the  grass,  with 
a  groan. 

"  I  did  n't  take  a  parlor  car,"  he  pleaded, 
"nor  the  sleeper.  And  I  walked  every 
where.  I  never  traveled  so  in  all  my  life. 
I  would  n't  want  you  to  think  I  wasted 
money  to  get  here.  I  took  a  luncheon  from 
home,  —  cold  mutton.  I  did  n't  buy  a  single 
thing  !  "  he  said  earnestly. 


236  DONALD    MARCY. 

"  Why  does  n't  your  uncle  keep  you  at 
college  one  year  more,  till  you  can  grad 
uate  ?  "  demanded  Fay,  with  the  hot  tears 
in  her  eyes.  Donald  shook  his  head. 

"  He  did  not  offer  to.  He  has  a  family  — 
my  cousins  —  all  girls  ;  they  're  an  expensive 
lot.  He  has  n't  offered  to  do  anything  else 
for  me  but  give  me  this  place  I  told  you 
of.  It 's  no  soft  berth,  I  can  tell  you  !  But 
I  don't  mind  that.  If  I  could  only  earn 
enough  to  live !  " 

"  What  will  you  earn  ?  What  will  you 
have  to  do  ?  What  's  your  position  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  'm  to  begin  as  a  reporter ;  night 
work,  —  up  till  four  A.M.,  —  police  courts,  and 
dog-fights,  and  that  kind  of  literature.  If  I 
am  extraordinarily  successful,  I  may  make 
two  or  three  hundred  dollars  the  first  year. 
...  I  wish  you  could  see  the  lace  on  my 
mother's  pillows  !  Why,  the  curtains  at  two 
of  her  windows  cost  five  hundred  dollars ! 
Her  doctor  has  been  paid  a  regular  salary 
of  six  thousand  a  year,  just  for  her  case 
alone." 

Fay,  to  whom  such  facts  and  figures  were 
as  foreign  as  the  best  parsonage  methods 
of  hashing  a  three  days'  old  roast  were  to 
Donald,  opened  her  black  eyes  wide  with 


"/  WILL   WAIT."  237 

appalled  wonder.  For  the  moment  she  was 
simply  silenced. 

"  I  ought  to  say,"  proceeded  Donald,  "  in 
justice  to  my  uncle,  that  he  said  he  would 
provide  for  mother  till  the  year  is  out,  —  till 
January.  He  has  found  a  place  for  her  on 
the  Connecticut  coast,  —  a  little  cheap  box, 
about  such  as  we  use  for  a  porter's  lodge  at 
Newport.  The  Newport  place  is  sold.  It 
had  to  go.  Everything  was  left  everyhow. 
Father  was  terribly  in  debt.  My  poor 
mother  —  after  such  a  life  as  hers  —  has  got 
to  live  in  a  way  her  own  maid  would  turn 
up  her  nose  at.  She  says  it  will  kill  her." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Fay  cheerfully, 
shaking  her  pretty  head. 

"  Well,  anyhow,  she  's  in  an  awful  state 
over  it  now.  The  maid  had  to  go ;  but 
Maria  stays  by  her.  Uncle  said  that  was 
reasonable.  He  said  she  would  really  have 
to  keep  Maria.  He  suggested  taking  her 
to  his  house  at  Cape  May,  to  save  expense. 
But  the  girls  would  n't  hear  of  it.  They  're 
a  gay  lot.  Cousin  Amelia  said  she  would  n't 
have  their  house  turned  into  a  hospital ;  so 
uncle  got  this  shanty  I  speak  of,  and  packed 
mother  and  Maria  off  down  there  last  week. 
She  took  it  terribly.  I  'm  all  fagged  out 
with  it." 


238  DONALD   MARCY. 

"  Well,  it  's  something,"  suggested  Fay 
hopefully,  "  if  your  uncle  will  do  so  much. 
How  do  you  know,  Mr.  Don,  he  does  n't 
mean  to  support  your  mother  till  you  really 
can,  only  he  does  n't  mean  to  tell  you  so  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Don,  brightening.  "  I 
never  thought  of  that.  Uncle  is  a  queer 
fellow.  He  has  all  sorts  of  views  and  theo 
ries  about  hardship,  and  making  your  own 
way,  and  what  he  calls  LIFE.  Great  good 
ness  !  as  if  life  did  n't  tackle  a  fellow  hard 
enough  anyhow  you  put  it.  Why,  I  used  to 
think  —  I  really  used  to  think  —  life  was  a 
pleasant  thing  !  "  cried  the  lad,  sitting  up 
straight,  and  looking  at  Fay  with  a  half- 
funny,  half-pathetic  seriousness. 

"  You  will  again,"  nodded  the  young 
lady  sedately ;  "  you  will  think  so  again, 
some  time.  You  have  n't  come  to  the  end 
of  it." 

"  Uncle  has  the  notion,"  pursued  Donald, 
"  that  graduating  is  of  no  importance.  He 
says  I  've  shown  some  ability  —  on  the  De 
Courtney.  If  it  had  n't  been  for  the  De 
Courtney  I  should  n't  have  been  allowed  the 
privilege  of  reporting  dog-fights  and  street- 
rows  news  on  the  great  *  Daily  Telephone 
and  Cable.'  And  that  reminds  me  —  Troun- 


"/  WILL   WAIT."  239 

cey  O'Grian  is  dropped !  Is  n't  it  too  bad  ? 
He  was  terribly  cut  up  at  first,  J.  says,  for 
he  'd  been  quite  a  dig  in  Trouncey's  way ; 
but  lie  had  n't  the  head,  you  see,  —  it  was 
no  go.  Well,  he  was  quite  cut  up  till  his 
father  got  him  a  berth  in  a  big  grain  busi 
ness  in  St.  Louis,  and  Trouiicey  's  gone  at  it, 
squaring  off  just  as  if  he  were  in  the  ring. 
He  expects  to  make  ten  thousand  dollars  in 
a  year.  I  wish  /  could  make  ten  thousand 
dollars  in  twenty  years  ! "  sighed  Don. 

"  That  reminds  we,"  said  Fay,  looking  mis 
chievous.  "  Mr.  Lee  Calhoun  asked  Jamie 
if  he  would  n't  bring  him  up  here  and  intro 
duce  him  to  me." 

"  The  —  mischief  he  did  !  "  growled  Don. 

"  And  was  n't  it  too  bad  about  the  races  ?  " 
asked  Fay,  going  right  on,  as  if  Mr.  Calhoun 
had  been  an  apple-leaf  that  she  brushed  away 
from  the  conversation. 

"  An  awful  pity  !  "  said  Donald.  "  Harle 
has  n't  been  so  beaten  for  ten  years  !  " 

"  Did  n't  they  say  they  missed  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes  ;  something  of  the  sort.  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  blow  about  it.  Some 
fellows  thought  it  lost  us  the  race.  But  I 
could  n't  help  that.  I  could  lit  go,  as  it 


240  DONALD  MARCY. 

"  Is  n't  the  '  Daily  Cable '  a  rich  paper  ?  " 
asked  Fay  abruptly. 

"  Oh  !  rich  enough  —  yes." 

"  And  it  has  a  fair  literary  department. 
I  know  it.  F.  Peter  Piper  edits  it." 

"Piper  is  a  Harle  man,"  observed  Donald. 

"Now  look  here,"  said  Fay  cheerily.  "  I 
don't  see  but  you  stand  a  real  chance.  Per 
haps  your  uncle  is  nicer  than  you  believe. 
May  be  he  means  to  push  you  just  as  fast 
as  you  prove  pushable.  How  do  you  know 
but  in  ten  years  you  '11  be  writing  the  leader 
of  New  York  city  on  —  say,  International 
Law?" 

"  You  're  a  good,  sensible,  cheerful,  hope 
ful  girl,"  said  Don.  "  I  feel  fifty  per  cent, 
better  since  I  talked  with  you.  I  was  in  the 
blue,  fifty  fathoms  down,  when  I  came  in. 
I  tell  you  one  thing,  Miss  Fay,  —  I  '11  be  all 
I  am,  and  if  I  'm  anything  worth  two  cents, 
it  will  be  all  owing  to  you,  anyhow." 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  cried  Fay. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  see  ?  "  cried  the  lad,  sud 
denly  springing  from  the  grass,  and  stand 
ing  before  her,  hat  in  hand.  "Don't  you 
see  why  I  am  so  desperately  down  ?  Don't 
you  see  it  's  all  because  —  because  "  — 

"  Oh,  don't !  "  cried  blushing  Fay. 


"/  WILL   WAIT.'1  241 

"  I  won't  if  you  don't  want  me  to,"  gasped 
the  boy.  And  there  he  came  to  a  dead 
pause.  Fay  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  her 
breath  came  a  little  short.  The  light  be 
tween  the  apple-leaves  fluttered  off  her  face, 
and  left  it  in  a  swift,  mute  shadow.  Donald 
had  grown  very  pale.  He  did  not,  would 
not  speak;  but  still  stood  staring,  hat  in 
hand. 

"I  —  did  n't  say  I  —  did  n't  want  you 
to,"  admitted  Fay,  in  a  thrilling  whisper. 

Oh,  then  the  boy  was  at  her  feet !  Then 
his  torrent  of  words  poured  out !  Then  he 
told  her  how  he  loved  her  —  how  he  loved 
her !  How  to  make  her  his  dear  wife,  if  he 
ever,  ever  could,  was  the  only  thing  he  cared 
for,  or  dreamed  of,  or  lived  for,  in  all  the 
world  ;  how  terrible  it  was  that  this  had 
come  to  separate  them,  —  that  the  burdens 
laid  so  unexpectedly  upon  him  (but  too 
sacred  to  be  shaken  off)  were  going  to  be  so 
heavy  and  so  hard  ;  that  it  would  be  so  long, 
at  the  earliest,  before  he  could  dare  to  hope 
to  marry,  and  how  unmanly  he  felt  it  to  ask 
a  noble  girl  like  her  to  wait  for  him. 

"  Why,  you  could  marry  anybody  !  "  cried 
the  lad,  in  a  flight  of  rapture  and  despair. 
"  And  it  may  be  years  and  years  before  I 
can  pay  for  our  Mondays'  dinners !  " 


242  DONALD  MARCY. 

"  I  could  help,"  suggested  Fay  softly. 
"  I  am  to  get  a  good  salary.  I  like  to  teach. 
I  'd  rather  earn.  I  'd  rather  help." 

"  Oh,  kiss  me,  Fay !  "  said  Donald,  in  a 
low,  awed  voice.  "  You  are  too  good  for  me. 
I  'm  not  fit  to  touch  you.  Kiss  me,  dear, 
will  you  ?  Here." 

He  kneeled  before  her  as  if  she  had  been 
the  saint  of  his  young  life,  and  she  touched 
her  lips  to  his  bared  forehead,  and  then  to 
his  beautiful  curls. 

"  Would  you  wait  for  me,  Fay  ?  Would 
you,  really  ?  " 

"  I  would  wait  for  you  all  my  life,"  said 
Fay. 


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BERKELEY 

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This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


O 
X 


53  U 


LD  21-95m-ll,'50(2877sl6)476 


M5O147Q 


